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4 


THE  WESTERN  SERIES  OF  ENGLISH  AND 
AMERICAN  CLASSICS 

S.  R.  Hadsell,  Professor  of  English,  University 
of  Oklahoma, 
and 

George  C.  Wells,  High  School  Inspector,  State  of 
Oklahoma 
General  Editors 

Carlyle.  Essay\  on  Burns.  Edited  by  Irene  P.  McKeehan, 
Professor  of  English  Language,  University  of  Colorado. 
Dickens.  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  Edited  by  George  C. 
Wells. 

Eliot.  Silas  Marner.  Edited  by  S.  R.  Hadsell  and  George 
C.  Wells. 

Garrard.  Wah-to-yah  and  the  Taos  Trail.  Edited  by 
Walter  S.  Campbell,  Assistant  Professor  of  English. 
University  of  Oklahoma. 

Goldsmith.  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  Edited  by  J.  L. 

Rader,  Librarian,  University  of  Oklahoma. 

Irving.  A  Tour  on  the  Prairies.  Edited  by  Joseph  B. 
Thoburn,  Secretary  of  the  Oklahoma  Historical  Society 
and  George  C.  Wells,  State  High  School  Inspector  of 
Oklahoma. 

Milton.  Shorter  Poems.  Edited  by  L.  J.  Rarton,  Professor 
of  Modern  Languages,  East  Central  Teachers'  College. 
Parkman.  The  Oregon  Trail.  Edited  by  Walter  S.  Camp¬ 
bell,  Assistant  Professor  of  Epglish,  University  of  Ok¬ 
lahoma. 

Scott.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Edited  by  Grace  E.  Jencke, 
Professor  of  English,  Southwestern  Teachers’  College. 
Scott.  Ivanhoe.  Edited  by  Bessie  M.  Huff.  Head  of  the 
Department  of  English,  Central  High  School,  Musko¬ 
gee,  Oklahoma. 

Shakespeare.  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  Edited  by 
S.  R.  Hadsell.  Professor  of  English,  University  of  Ok¬ 
lahoma. 

Sheridan.  The  Rivals.  Edited  by  J.  L.  Rader,  Librarian, 
University  of  Oklahoma. 

Stevenson.  Treasure  Island.  Edited  by  George  C.  Wells 
and  S.  R.  Hadsell. 

Tennyson.  Idylls  of  the  King.  Edited  by  S.  R.  Hadsell 
and  George  C.  Wells. 

Others  in  Preparation 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


The  Western  Series  of  English  and 


American  Classics 


Ivanhoe 

A  ROMANCE 


By 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

1 1 


Edited  for  School  Use 
by 

Bessie  M.  Huff 

Head,  of  Department  of  English, 
Central  High  School,  Muskogee,  Oklahoma 


HARLOW  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
Oklahoma  City 
1927 


Copyright,  1927 
By 

Harlow  Publishing  Co. 


©C1A1013168 


NOW  1977 


FOREWORD 


In  preparing  this  edition  of  Ivanhoe  for  use  in 
>  chools,  the  editor  has  sought  to  make  it  possible  for 
junior  or  senior  high-school  pupils  to  enjoy  the  story. 
Many  years  of  experience  have  convinced  her  that  too 
frequently  the  methods  used  have  driven  children  from 
reading,  thus  defeating  the  purpose  of  literature 
\  caching  in  the  public  schools. 

|  Since  children  cannot  be  selected,  a  teacher  must 
cake  all  those  who  come  and  serve  them.  Immediate¬ 
ly  she  faces  the  problem  of  individual  differences. 
The  contracts  suggested  for  teachers  are  presented  to 
help  her  meet  this  situation.  The  solution  to  the  prob¬ 
lem  is  individual  effort,  permitting  each  pupil  to  work 
at  the  rate  he  is  able. 

Even  if  some  are  ready  for  the  last  contract,  dram¬ 
atization  of  the  book,  later  than  others,  they  will  en¬ 
joy  presenting  their  own  dramatization  when  they 
get  the  proper  understanding,  no  matter  how  late  the 
knowledge  comes.  Some  people  naturally  work  faster 
than  others.  After  all,  the  purpose  of  all  literature 
teaching  is  not  the  completion  of  a  certain  amount  of 
prescribed  work ;  it  is  the  stimulation  of  human  minds 
to  action,  the  stimulation  that  causes  something  to 
happen  in  the  mind  of  each  and  every  child. 

The  foot-notes  can  well  be  regarded  as  markers 
along  a  highway.  Because  they  are  there  to  guide 
those  who  need  them,  no  one  is  ever  asked  to  pass  an 
examination  on  the  situation  of  the  markers.  Indeed, 
they  serve  their  purpose  when  they  carry  the  traveller 
to  his  destination,  which  in  Ivarihoe'  is  an  enjoyable 
understanding  of  a  good  story,  after  a  pleasant  ex¬ 
perience  in  a  journey  of  the  mind. 

— BESSIE  M.  HUFF. 


<* 


\ 


CONTENTS 


Preface  to  Students— -  i 

Life  of  Scott _ — - -  vii 

Chronological  List  of  Scott’s  Publications— xviii 

List  of  Characters _ _  xxi 

IVANHOE _ _  1 

Appendix _ _ 643 

Glossary  - 653 

Suggestions  to  Teachers  and  Students -  667 


■ 


PREFACE  FOR  STUDENTS 

l  ^  V  •  , 

/ou  will  read  Ivanhoe  to-day  even  a  hundred  years 
turjer  it  appeared  first,  because  you  will  enjoy  it.  It 
is  a  story  of  action.  Something  happens  every  minute. 

Even  in  the  mad  rush  of  the  present  day  when 
many  travel  in  automobiles  and  airplanes,  perhaps 
there  never  was  a  time  when  people  prepared  them¬ 
selves  as  thoroughly  to  have  a  good  time  as  they  do 
to-day.  While  the  trip  is  the  paramount  pleasure, 
great  care  is  taken  in  finding  the  proper  equipment, 
in  understanding  the  roads,  and  in  learning  something 
of  the  people  and  the  country  in  which  the  journey 
is  taken. 

Now,  to  apply  the  same  principle  to  your  trip 
through  this  magnificent  story,  what  are  the  points 
of  interest  that  you  are  going  to  learn  in  Ivanhoe 
which  will  add  to  your  pleasure  and  understanding? 

In  the  first  place,  since  you  have  not  had  English 
history,  you  are  wondering  what  is  behind  the  resent¬ 
ment  that  is  shown  between  Norman  and  Saxon  from 
the  beginning.  In  1066  the  Normans  came  across 
from  the  northern  part  of  France  and  conquered  Eng¬ 
land.  Of  course  they,,  who  spoke  French  and  had 
French  customs,  brought  with  them  their  language 
and  habits.  Since  they  became  the  ruling  class,  they 
dominated  all  court  life  and  higher  classed  of  people. 
The  lower  classes,  old  Saxon  land  owners  and  people 
not  dependent  upon  political  aid  from  the  government, 
tried  in  vain  to  keep  alive  the  old  Saxon  life,  language, 
and  customs.  There  was  a  strong  feeling  of  antagon¬ 
ism  between  these  two  peoples.  Before  the  time  of 
Ivanhoe,  however,  much  of  this  feeling  had  been  eradi¬ 
cated  by  intermarriage  and  by  common  interests. 
Scott  reveals  the  spirit  of  the  earlier  times  so  W£ll 
that  the  inaccuracy  in  dates  is  pardoned. 


11 


IVANHOE 


The  spirit  of  this  struggle  between  these 
peoples  permeates  the  entire  book  and  enters  int' 
three  plots  that  form  the  story.  This  is  pro  | 
the  second  point  that  you  want  to  know.  Whert^  . 
you  going  in  your  story?  The  first  plot,  or  stc  aj 
was  woven  around  Ivanhoe  and  Rowena.  The  ne> 
was  the  conspiracy  of  John  and  the  affairs  of  Rird| 
ard.  The  last  involved  the  attempts  of  the  Temp  qjjj 
to  secure  Rebecca.  While  each  thread  is  closely  km 
to  the  other,  perhaps  the  linking  comes  through  tl  * 
spirit  of  the  Normans  and  the  Saxons.  In  the  firs 
Cedric,  a  Saxon  of  the  old  order,  that  was  rapidi.» 
dying  out,  tried  to  prevent  the  marriage  of  Rowen 
a  noble  Saxon  girl,  and  Ivanhoe,  who  was  the  loya; 
knight,  a  symbol  of  the  new  order  that  was  destined 
to  succeed  with  the  ruling  Normans.  In  the  seeon, 
plot  there  was  the  struggle  between  the  forces  tha 
gathered  themselves  in  sympathy  around  each  group. 
While  they  resented  having  any  Norman,  the  Saxons 
preferred  Richard,  the  Crusading  prince,  who  had 
long  been  away  from  the  land.  The  Norman  noble¬ 
men  showed  allegiance  to  Prince  John,  who  had  the 
throne  in  Richard’s  absence  and  who  feared  Rich¬ 
ard’s  return.  Here  again  the  spirit  of  the  times  is 
more  true  than  the  actual  presentation  of  facts.  In 
the  third  plot,  the  spirit  of  the  old  Norman-Saxon 
struggle  is  less  prominent,  except  from  the  sentiment 
standpoint.  The  Templar,  a  representative  of  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  of  old  institutions,  a  degenerate 
knight,  and  an  evil  character,  was  friendly  to  the 
Normans.  Rebecca,  who  belonged  to  the  race  that 
aided  the  Normans  but  was  despised  by  them,  was  a 
bit  like  Ivanhoe;  she  represented  a  new  order.  She 
drew  her  aid  from  a  person  free  from  prejudice. 

Robin  Hood,  De  Bracy,  Wamba,  Gurth,  and  the  Friar, 
* 


Preface  to  Students 


iii 


took  his  place  in  belonging  to  one  side  or  the 
0as  you  can  plainly  see  as  you  read  the  story. 

comes  the  third  question.  What  kind  of  people 
pere  in  the  book,  or,  in  other  words,  how  are  the 
f  peters  portrayed? 

^ruly  you  cannot  get  very  well  acquainted  with  the 
!  fracters;  at  least  they  make  no  change  before  you. 

r  y  grow  neither  worse  nor  better.  Rebecca  is, 

,  ‘ .  naps,  an  exception.  You  can  see  the  growth  of 
love  for  Ivanhoe  and  her  struggle  to  remain  true 
‘?her  race.  Ivanhoe  is  essentially  a  book  of  action 
jd  not  of  character  delineation, 
yrhe  places  around  which  the  action  is  centered 
jpre  connected  in  a  very  interesting  manner,  by  in¬ 
cidents  that  involve  the  various  characters  that  move 
cickly  before  your  eyes.  The  first  part  of  the  book 
is  centered  around  the  tournament.  Here  entered 
Wamba,  Gurth  the  Prior,  the  Templar,  Cedric,  Isaac, 
Rowena,  Athelstane,  Prince  John,  Locksley,  and  Ivan¬ 
hoe.  The  storming  of  the  castle,  the  second  place, 
involved  most  of  these  along  with  Richard,  the  Friar, 
Front-de-Bceuf,  and  De  Bracy.  The  third  was  the 
judicial  combat  in  which  the  Templar  and  Rebecca 
were  the  most  concerned.  Of  course  Ivanhoe  came 
into  the  story  prominently  here.  In  each  part  of  the 
story  there  is  a  point  of  highest  interest.  See  if  you 
can  pick  a  climax  for  each  of  these  three  plots  and 
situations. 

No  doubt  you  are  wondering  about  the  name. 
Scott  took  it  from  an  old  rhyme  concerning  three 
manors  forfeited  by  the  ancestor  of  John  Hampden 
to  the  Black  Prince  for  striking  him  a  blow  with  a 
racket  when  they  quarreled  at  a  game  of  tennis: 
“Twing,  Wing,  and  Ivanhoe, 

For  striking  of  a  blow, 

Hampden  did  forgo, 

And  glad  he  could  escape  so.” 


iv 


IVANHOE 


Scott  chose  the  name  because  it  had  an  ancient* 
English  sound  and  because  it  gave  no  hint  as  to  the! 
ending  of  the  story. 

Ivanhoe,  the  first  historical  novel  written,  was  well 
received.  It  marks  the  height  of  Scott’s  popularity. 
“As  a  work  of  art,”  Lockhart  says,1  “ Ivanhoe  is  per¬ 
haps  the  first  of  all  Scott’s  efforts,  whether  in  prose 
or  in  verse ;  nor  have  the  strength  and  splendor  of 
his  imagination  been  displayed  to  a  higher  advantage 
than  in  some  of  the  scenes  of  this  romance.”  As  h 
was  suffering  from  an  illness  at  the  time  Ivanlit 
was  written,  much  of  it  was  dictated.  The  parts 
that  were  in  Scott’s  handwriting  were  very  neat.  He 
never  rewrote  any  of  his  prose  before  sending  it  to 
the  publisher. 

Many  object  to  the  ending  of  the  story,1  but  surely 
you  cannot  spend  long  in  regret  concerning  the  end 
of  a  story  when  there  are  such  thrilling  events  as 
tournaments,  encounters  with  outlaws,  and  castle  bom¬ 
bardments  to  remember.  Ivanhoe,  the  Black  Knight 

Lockhart’s  life  of  Scott,  Page  421,  Vol.  III. 

During  the  Sesqui-Centennial  in  1926,  one  of  the  new 
papers  of  Philadelphia  carried  an  extensive  story  of  E 
becca  Gratz,  prototype  of  Rebecca,  who  was  an  eav 
resident  of  Philadelphia  and  whose  grave  is  on  the  no 
side  of  Spruce  Street  above  Eighth  Street,  opposite 
Pennsylvania  Hospital.  Mass  Gratz  became  a  friei 
Washington  Irving  because  she  was  a  true  friend  of 
Matilda  Hoffman  to  whom  Irving  was  engaged  and  I 
whom  he  was  faithful  even  after  her  early  death  befoi, 
their  marriage.  When  Mr.  Irving  visited  Scott  at  Abbots  j 
ford,  he  told  the  Scotch  writer  about  the  character  of  Re¬ 
becca  and  expressed  a  desire  that  Scott  could  put  her  into  ! 
one  of  his  stories. 

In  her  life-time,  the  Rebecca  of  Philadelphia  did  not 
marry,  but  spent  a  long  life  of  over  eighty  years  in  de¬ 
voted  service  to  the  community  and  her  loved  ones.  The 
following  is  the  leading  paragraph  of  her  will:  “I,  Re- 


Preface  to  Students 


v 


Cedric,  and  the  Templar  certainly  claim  anyone’s  at¬ 
tention  until  he  can  almost  imagine  he  is  among  them. 
Can  you  not  almost  actually  see  Ivanhoe  in  the  first 
||  tournament?  His  skill,  ease,  and  good  sportsmanship 
i  made  his  victory  certain.  Gurth  and  Wamba  were  not 
I  bad  servants,  after  all  Cedric  said  about  them,  were 
they?  They  went  further  than  any  freeman  might  do 
in  carrying  out  his  duties.  Wamba  certainly  “gave 
service  with  a  smile.”  You  cannot  help  being  glad 
♦that  Rowena  did  not  marry  Athelstane,  now  can  you? 
>It  was  not  all  because  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
something  to  eat,  either.  If  you  object  to  the  ending 
of  the  story,  what  would  you  do  with  Rowena?  You 
cannot  let  your  mind  dwell  on  any  one  character, 
because  just  when  that  one  gets  quiet  enough  for  you 
to  study  him,  along  comes  another  one  to  take  first 
place  in  your  attention.  Ivanhoe  is  a  book  of  action, 
one  in  which  people  do  things. 

Frequently  attention  is  directed  to  the  historical 
inaccuracies  in  Ivanhoe.  Why  notice  the  thorns  when 
the  rose  is  there  to  see?  Great  musicians  can  make 
harmonious  discords  that  no  amateur  dare  play.  A 
kittle  boy  once  objected  that  grandfather  could  nod 
r^pd  sleep  in  his  chimney  corner  as  much  as  he 
-leased,  when  he  said: 

“Put  if  I  close  my  eyes  and  nod  my  head 
hil  am  sure  to  be  marched  right  off  to  bed.” 

ou  and  I  cannot  confuse  our  facts,  because  we 
ave  not  stood  the  test  of  ages  to  prove  our  worth 


fbecca  Gratz,  <  f  Philadelphia,  being  in  sound  health  of  body 
and  mind,  advanced  in  the  vale  of  years,  declare  this  to 
be  my  last  will  and  testament.  I  commit  my  spirit  to  the 
God  Who  gave  it,  relying  on  His  mercy  and  redeeming  love, 
and  believing  with  a  firm -and  perfect  faith  in  the  religion 
of  my  fathers — ‘Hear  O,  Israel,  the  Lord  God  is  one  Lord’.” 
She  in  practice  carried  out  what  the  Rebecca  of  Ivanhoe 
declared  she  was  going  to  do  with  her  life. 


VI 


Preface  to  Students 


in  any  special  field ;  but  certainly  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
who  was  the  master  of  the  art  of  story-telling,,,  is  be¬ 
yond  our  criticism  in  respect  to  historical  errors, 
however  just  it  may  be  to  recognize  that  he  was  his¬ 
torically  inaccurate.  All  we  need  to  do  is  to  read 
and  to  enjoy  the  lively  and  fascinating  tale  told  in 
Ivanhoe.  Let  us  permit  Scott  to  lead  our  imagina¬ 
tion,  as  he  did  those  of  his  classmates  of  the  past, 
through  a  romance  of  early  days. 


LIFE  OF  SCOTT 


Why  study  Sir  Walter  Scott?  No  doubt  when  you 
are  grown,  the  children  in  the  schools  will  be  say¬ 
ing,  “Why  talk  about  Lindbergh?” 

Up  to  the  time  of  Scott,  people  were  not  accus¬ 
tomed  to  stories  that  gave  them  pictures  of  human 
life  in  interesting,  outdoor  situations.  In  fact  so 
well  did- Scott  succeed  that  he  took  the  people  of  his 
day  by  storm,  just  as  the  young  “Ace  of  the  Air”  took 
the  world  of  1927.  His  books  were  read  by  young 
and  old.  Writers  of  England  imitated  him.  Foreign¬ 
ers  translated  his  works  into  other  tongues.  Nor 
has  the  popularity  of  Scott’s  hovels  decreased  as  time 
has  passed.  Such  word  pictures  of  early  English  life, 
knights,  and  tournaments,  as  well  as  of  Scottish 
Highlanders  and  of  Scottish  life  did  he  paint  that 
people  to-day  read  and  study  Scott’s  works.  They 
consider  it  a  privilege  to  view  the  past  through  a 
lens  polished  by  a  master  hand,  through  a  powerful 
story  told  by  Scott. 

Do  you  suppose  that  the  children  will  some  day 
have  difficulty  in  imagining  Lindbergh  as  a  boy? 
Sometimes  the  youth  of  great  men  fade  before  their 
prominence.  To  get  a  true  picture  of  Scott,  you  must 
imagine  a  lame  boy  who  consciously  and  resolutely 
gained  health  until  he  could  walk  from  twenty-five 
to  thirty  miles  in  a  day’s  hike.  He  loved  the  open. 
When  he  was  not  walking,  he  rode  horseback  over  the 
highlands  and  lowlands  of  Scotland,  until  he  knp  ,  it 
as  you  know  the  favorite  country  through  which  you 
drive.  He  liked  to  hunt.  He  even  ^ed  to  fight  in 
the  school  yard.  No  doubt  L's  ability  to  mimic 
people,  while  it  led  him  into  difficulties  in  the  school 
room,  helped  him  to  see  interesting  traits  in  others. 
Above  all  he  enjoyed  making  up  and  telling  a  tale  to 


Vlll 


IVANHOE 


see  his  friends  grow  excited  in  anticipation  of  how 
the  story  was  going  to  end.  Scott  was  just  a  live, 
wide-awake  boy,  even  if  he  was  born  in  1771.  You 
would  have  liked  him  if  you  had  known  him,  and 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  cannot  become  ac¬ 
quainted  with  him. 

If  he  had  not  later  in  life  overcome  his  ill  health, 
the  affliction  that  came  on  him  when  he  was  eigh¬ 
teen  months  old  would  be  very  sad.  As  the  result  of 
teething  fever,  he  was  left  powerless  to  use  his  right 
leg.  The  little  fellow  was  sent  to  the  country  to  the 
farm  house  known  as  Sandy-Knowe.  Every  possible 
remedy  was  tried.  In  a  peculiar  one  he  was  wrapped 
in  the  warm  hide  of  a  sheep  which  had  just  been 
killed.  He  was  frequently  carried  out  to  the  old 
shepherd  who  let  him  lie  in  the  sun  on  the  ground 
among  the  sheep.  One  day  he  was  forgotten  when  a 
thunder  storm  came  up  unexpectedly.  His  aunt 
rushed  out  to  find  him  lying  on  his  back  and  exclaim¬ 
ing  delightedly  at  each  flash  of  lightning,  “Bonny, 
bonny.”  This  contact  with  nature,  the  fresh  air, 
special  baths,  and  natural  exercise,  brought  on  by 
a  desire  to  do  as  others  did,  gave  the  boy  the  neces¬ 
sary  strength  to  begin  to  walk. 

An  uncle  gave  Walter  a  small  Shetland  pony  not 
so  large  as  a  big  Newfoundland  dog.  The  boy  was 
permitted  to  bring  his  pet  into  the  house  and  to  feed 
it  himself.  He  learned  to  ride  well.  So  much  did 
he  think  of  the  pony  that  he  bought  one  for  a  grand¬ 
child  in  his  later  life  and  gave  the  new  pony  the 
name,  Marion,  the  same  his  childhood  playmate  had 
borne. 

Because  he  had  been  ill  and  because  he  had  been 
cared  for  by  an  aunt  and  a  grandfather  who  granted 
all  his  wishes,  he  was  wilful,  wanting  his  own  way 
when  he  returned  for  a  time  to  his  father’s  house. 


Life  of  Scott 


IX 


The  author’s  mother  was  a  great  inspiration  to  him 
in  her  sympathy  for  his  delight  in  imaginative  read¬ 
ing.  He  had  a  passion  for  reading,  but  he  wanted 
to  read  just  what  he  pleased.  The  private  teachers 
and  the  masters  in  the  schools  Scott  attended  in 
Edinburgh  found  that  it  was  a  task  to  get  him  to 
learn  his  Latin  and  Greek.  He  was  not,  however, 
void  of  ambition.  He  aspired  to  be  at  the  head  of 
his  class,  but  he  did  not  always  want  to  work  to  get 
there.  There  was  one  time  that  he  played  a  decidedly 
boyish  prank  in  order  to  attain  his  desire.  He  no¬ 
ticed  that  the  boy  at  the  top  of  the  class  always 
played  with  a  certain  button  on  his  coat  while  he  was 
reciting.  Walter  cut  the  button  from  the  boy’s  coat 
and  the  boy  failed  to  recite.  As  a  result  of  his 
trick,  Walter  went  to  the  head  of  the  class. 

It  was  in  the  “yards”,  the  play-ground,  that  he 
was  “more  distinguished”  than  in  the  class  room. 
Mentally,  he  could  easily  have  led,  but  he  no  doubt 
felt  that  he  was  not  a  boy  among  boys  unless  he 
showed  his  physical  strength.  On  the  first  day  he 
entered  one  school,  he  received  a  bloody  nose  because 
he  insisted  upon  not  being  favored  because  he  was 
a  cripple.  But  he  had  exceptional  strength  in  the 
arms  and  chest  so  that  he  soon  maintained  a  place  of 
respect  among  his  friends. 

After  he  had  won  them  on  their  own  ground,  the 
boys  soon  came  to  appreciate  his  special  talent.  They 
took  delight  in  gathering  about  him  to  have  him  tell 
them  tales  that  he  pictured  in  his  mind.  No  doubt 
his  powers  of  mimicking  added  to  the  vivacity  of  his 
speech  and  manner  until  the  boys  who  could  not 
create  tales  themselves  could  at  least  live  in  their 
imaginations  the  tales  he  told.  James  Ballantyne, 
with  whom  he  attended  Grammar  School*  for  a  few 
weeks,  and  he  would  spend  hours  in  school  and  out 


X 


IVANHOE 


of  school  together.  Always  Walter  related  to  his 
interesting  companion  some  fascinating  adventure. 

Scott’s  mother  wanted  his  education  to  be  well 
rounded.  She  even  attempted  to  give  him  music  les¬ 
sons  along  with  his  brothers,  but  she  gave  up  her 
ambition  when  a  neighbor  protested  over  all  the 
children  being  flogged  at  once  because  they  could  not 
learn  to  play.  Scott  could  not  draw  either,  a  failure 
he  regretted  immensely,  later  in  his  life  because 
there  were  times  when  he  would  like  to  draw.piceures 
of  things  that  he  saw  in  his  travels.  He  contented 
himself  with  cutting  pieces  of  tre§s  of  various  places 
to  put  in  what  he  called  his  “log-book.”  How  inter¬ 
esting  a  collection  of  out-door  historical  places  he 
must  have  had!  Evidently  Stamp  collections  and 
memory  books  are  not  new  ideas  after  all. 

The  boy’s  excursions  became  such  a  passion  with 
him  that  he  often  went  distances  which  kept  him 
away  from  home  long  enough  to  make  his  parents 
alarmed.  Had  he  not  been  an  out-door  creature,  no 
doubt  he  would  not  have  recovered  from  a  severe 
illness  in  his  youth  when  a  blood  vessel  in  his  ab¬ 
domen  burst.  By  dogged  determination,  out-door 
living,  and  careful  diet,  he  lived  to  be  strong.  He 
says,  “My  frame  gradually  became  hardened  with 
my  constitution,  and  being  both  tall  and  muscular, 
I  was  rather  disfigured  than  disabled  by  my  lame¬ 
ness.  This  personal  disadvantage  did  not  prevent 
me  from  taking  much  exercise  on  horseback,  and 
making  long  journeys  on  foot,  in  the  course  of  which 
I  often  walked  from  twenty  to  thirty  miles  a  day.”1 

Rollicking,  lively  boys  must  settle  into  staid  busi¬ 
ness  men  sooner  or  later.  Walter  Scott’s  father  de¬ 
cided  that  he  should  be  a  lawyer.  Since  Walter,  who 
knew  much  about  literature,  folk  lore,  and  nature, 

'Lockhart’s  Life  of  Scott ,  page  49 :  Vol.  I. 


Life  of  Scott 


XI 


did  not  especially  want  to  be  a  lawyer,  he  admits  that 
he  was  forced  to  study  when  he  read  law  to  learn  all 
the  facts  he  needed.  He  studied  Roman  and  Civil 
law  during  the  years  1789,  1790,  1791,  1792,  when  he 
was  admitted  to  the  bar.  He  devoted  himself  to  the 
task  in  a  whole-souled  manner,  even  though  in  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  his  professional  career,  he  had  to  copy 
long  documents  in  long  hand  for  hours  at  a  time. 

Scott  loved  and  married  Miss  Carlotte  Margaret 
Carpenter  in  1797.  His  meeting  is  somewhat  mod¬ 
ern  and  very  romantic.  He  and  a  friend  who  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  at  a  house  party  were  riding  out  to  amuse 
themselves  one  morning.  They  saw  a  young  woman, 
also  out  for  a  ride,  who  attracted  them,  and  they 
followed  her  until  they  assured  themselves  that  she 
was  a  member  of  the  same  house  party.  Scott’s 
brother  and  the  friend  dressed  in  their  army  uni¬ 
forms  for  the  ball  in  the  evening.  There  was  no 
little  rivalry  as  to  who  should  be  the  first  to  meet 
the  young  woman  of  the  morning.  Highly  amusing, 
however,  was  the  fact  that  when  they  were  intro¬ 
duced  Walter  Scott  succeeded  in  escorting  the  young 
woman  to  supper  even  though  his  brother  and  his 
friend  had  made  many  preparations  for  a  conquest. 

Scott,  upon  his  marriage  to  Miss  Carpenter,  did  not 
take  her  at  once  to  the  noted  Castle  of  Abbotsford 
which  many  tourists  visit  to-day.  They  lived  in 
Scott’s  North  Castle  Street  house  in  Edinburgh;  later 
they  were  at  a  hired  cottage  at  Lasswade  which  is  on 
the  Esk  about  seven  miles  from  Edinburgh;  from 
there  they  moved  to  Ashesteil  situated  on  the  south¬ 
ern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  a  few  miles  from  Selkirk. 
Here  Scott’s  family  of  two  boys  and  two  girls  had 
the  fun  of  playing  in  an  old-fashioned  garden  with 
holly  hedges  and  broad;  green  terrace  walks. 

He  became  famous  among  the  lawyers  for  his  story 


IVANHOE 


xii 

telling.  Mien  liked  to  listen  to  him.  In  spite  of  his 
desire  to  keep  his  law  practice,  his  pleasure  led  him 
toward  his  literary  career.  A  trip  along  the  Border 
country  in  the  fall  of  1792  and  an  excursion  in  the 
following  summer  into  some  of  the  finest  districts  of 
Stirlingshire  and  Perthshire  stimulated  his  ambi¬ 
tion.  Here  he  familiarized  himself  with  the  country 
and  people  around  it  by  staying  a  week  or  ten  days 
at  a  time  in  the  homes  of  the  country  people. 

From  1800,  when  he  was  at  work  on  “The  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Border”  until  the  day  of  his  death, 
he  was  to  be  found  in  a  busy  whirl  of  legal,  political, 
and  literary  activity.  In  1799,  he  was  given  an  ap¬ 
pointment  to  the  sheriffship  of  Selkirkshire  which 
relieved  him  enough  financially  that  he  could  devote 
some  time  to  writing. 

Shortly  after  the  appearance  of  “The  Minstrels  of 
the  Scottish  Border”  in  1802,  “The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel”  appeared  in  1805.  “Marmion”  was  pub¬ 
lished  in  1808  and  “The  Lady  of  the  Lake”  in  1810. 
The  major  portion  of  his  early  works  was  poetry. 
So  good  was  it  that  he  was  offered  the  Poet-laureate- 
ship  of  England.  But  because  he  already  was  in  the 
service  of  the  government  and  because  he  felt  that 
there  were  other  men  in  England  who  earned  their 
living  entirely  by* writing  and  who  were  more  worthy 
than  he  was  for  the  place,  he  declined.  It  is  in¬ 
teresting  to  note  that  his  activity  in  this  field  brought 
him  recognition  from  other  noted  English  poets  of 
the  time;  namely,  Wordsworth,  who  admired  him  per¬ 
sonally;  Byron,  who  was  generous  of  his  praise,  and 
Southey,  who  later  became  Poet-laureate.  Coleridge 
and  Scott  had  already  met  and  were  friends. 

He  had  received  a  second  aid  financially  when  he 
was  appointed  in  1806  to  a  public  office  which  he 
held  successfully  for  twenty-five  years.  He  was  ap- 


Life  of  Scott 


xiii 


pointed  clerk  to  the  Judges  of  the  Inner  Court  of 
Scotland,  which  was  in  session  from  May  12  to  July 
12  and  again  from  November  12  to  March  12  with  a 
short  vacation  at  Christmas.  He  was  busy  approxi¬ 
mately  six  hours  a  day.  Is  it  not  remarkable  he 
found  time  to  write? 

In  1814  he  published  the  novel  Waverly  which  was 
at  once  popular.  Guy  Mannering,  The  Antiquary, 
Black  Dwarf,  Old  Mortality,  The  Heart  of  Midlothian, 
and  Rob  Roy,  all  followed  within  the  next  four  years. 
The  next  five  years  saw  the  publication  of  the  his¬ 
torical  romances:  Ivanhoe,  Kenilworth,  The  Fortunes 
of  Nigel  and  Quentin  Durward.  The  Talisman,  a  tale 
of  the  Crusaders,  came  out  in  1825. 

These  and  many  others  followed,  for  Scott 
wrote  forty-eight  books  in  twenty-nine  years  from 
1802  to  1832.  These  were  translated  into  foreign 
languages.  Goethe,  a  noted  German  writer,  said 
that  he  enjoyed  the  “wonderful  pictures  of  human 
life”  that  he  gained  from  reading  the  Waverly  novels. 
Carlyle  once  wrote  Scott  that  he  was  carrying  a  mes¬ 
sage  from  Goethe  to  Scott.  This  he  sent  by  letter 
with  praise  of  Scott.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the 
two  Scottish  writers,  Scott  and  Carlyle,  never  did 
meet,  for  each  desired  to  know  the  other.  They  had 
corresponded  many  times. 

While  Scott  was  busy  with  his  writing,  many  other 
important  events  were  taking  place  in  his  life.  He 
became  the  silent  partner  in  1808  in  the  firm  “John 
Ballantyne  and  Co.,  Booksellers,  Edinburgh.”  He 
appears  to  have  supplied  at  least  three-fourths  of 
the  capital.  Thus  he  entered  into  an  enterprise  that 
was  later  to  influence  his  life  materially.  In  1811  he 
purchased  the  site  of  Abbotsford  by  means  of  money 
borrowed  partly  on  a  new  poem,  Rokeby.  No  doubt 
Mrs.  Scott  hesitated  to  move  into  a  small  house  in 


XIV 


IVANHOE 


a  barren  plot  of  land  then  known  by  the  ugly  title 
of  “Clarty  Hole/’  Scott  liked  ^this  place  because  it 
was  the  scene  of  the  Border  battle  fought  in  the 
presence  of  James  V  between  the  Kerrs  and  the 
Scotts.  Also  the  river  Tweed  was  there  to  make  a 
beginning  for  the  beautiful  and  interesting  estate 
which  Scott  was  able  to  make  of  it  in  fourteen  years 
of  labor  and  with  much  expenditure  of  money. 

Some  of  the  rooms  of  Abbotsford,  especially  those 
used  most  by  Scott,  are  open  to  visitors  to-day, 
showing  furniture  of  that  time,  if  not  the  original. 
The  castle  is  large  because  Scott  wanted  a  place  for 
his  own  family,  their  friends,  and  all  the  cousins  and 
distant  relatives.  He  liked  to  make  people  happy. 
Though  he  spent  many  hours  in  study  and  in  writing 
when  he  was  at  Abbotsford,  he  always  found  time  for 
people.  One  would  think,  to  see  his  round  of  activity, 
that  he  did  nothing  but  entertain.  Many  came  to 
see  him.  As  his  fame  grew,  many  made  demands 
upon  his  time,  but  always  he  was  a  considerate,  pleas¬ 
ing  host. 

The  pride  that  he  had  in  a  name  and  title  was 
gratified  in  1820  when  he  had  conferred  upon  him  a 
baronetcy,  an  honor  which  he  did  not  seek.  It  was 
evidence  of  the  respect  that  was  felt  for  him  by  the 
King,  and  recognition  of  him  as  a  worthy  citizen. 

As  one  naturally  expects  of  a  man  as  thoughtful 
of  others  as  Scott  was,  he  took  a  great  interest  in 
his  family.  He  taught  the  children  much  about  the 
out-of-doors.  Indeed,  he  expected  his  two  daughters 
Sophia  and  Anne,  to  love  nature  as  much  as  their 
two  brothers,  Walter,  Jr.,  and  Charles.  For  the  girls 
he  provided  tutors  so  that  they  received  their  educa¬ 
tion  entirely  in  the  home.  The  elder  son,  who  in¬ 
herited  Abbotsford,  rose  to  the  position  of  Captaincy 
in  the  English  army.  The  younger  son,  Charles,  at- 


Life  of  Scott 


xv 


tended  university,  caring  for  literature  and  refine¬ 
ment.  The  two  boys  were  unlike  in  appearance  and 
manner:  the  older  tall  and  athletic,  the  model  of  a 
cavalier,  with  gentle  frankness;  the  younger,  slender 
and  delicate  in  frame  with  bearing  of  womanly  gentle¬ 
ness  and  reserve.  They  kept  to  the  end  of  their  lives 
the  warmth  of  affection  of  the  lovely  childhood  which 
was  given  them  by  understanding  parents,  Lady  and 
Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Such  strong  prejudice  did  Scott  have  against  any¬ 
one  marrying  in  the  month  of  May  that  he  rushed 
away  from  the  ceremony  in  March  in  which  he  be¬ 
came  a  baronet  that  his  older  daughter  might  have 
her  wedding  in  April.  She  married  J.  G.  Lockhart, 
who  afterward  wrote  the  best  biography  of  Scott 
written.  These  two  men  were  great  friends.  Of  his 
four  children,  it  is  said  that  Sophia  had  disposition 
and  tastes  most  like  her  father.  While  he  showed  no 
partiality,  for  Anne  was  a  comfort  to  the  family  dur¬ 
ing  all  illness,  he  enjoyed  the  company  of  Sophia  and 
that  of  her  husband  immensely. 

Scott’s  only  daughter-in-law  pleased  him  as  much 
as  did  his  son-in-law.  Neither  Charles  nor  Anne 
married.  Upon  only  one  occasion  did  Scott  give  a 
formal  ball.  This  was  on  Christmas  of  1824.  Abbots¬ 
ford  had  been  completed.  The  whole  castle  was  in 
gala  attire,  the  festival  being  in  honor  of  the  be¬ 
trothal  of  his  older  son,  Walter,  and  Jane,  the  niece 
of  his  special  friend,  Sir  Adam  Ferguson. 

The  fifth  child,  or  the  one  who  had^  the  place  in 
the  affections  of  Scott  as  a  fifth  child,  was  another 
Walter,  a  nephew  for  whom  Scott  provided  until  the 
boy  was  able  to  go  to  India  as  an  engineer.  With 
all  three  boys  Sir  Walter  corresponded  in  letters 
that  you  might  find  very  interesting.  This  busy  fa¬ 
ther  found  time  always  to  think  of  his  boys. 


XVI 


IVANHOE 


It  is  sad  to  think!  that  in  his  last  days  Scott  had 
financial  worries,  but  they  were  not  the  result 
of  his  own  mismanagement.  The  printing  firm, 
with  which  he  had  earlier  connected  himself  as 
a  silent  pardner,  failed.  Poor  business  manage¬ 
ment  on  the  part  of  those  actively  engaged  in  run¬ 
ning  the  business  and  Scott’s  refusal  to  pay  very 
strict  attention  to  the  conditions  that  threatened, 
so  great  was  his  confidence  in  his  friends,  led  from 
bad  to  worse  until  complete  failure  came  in  1826. 
Being  honorable,  Scott  felt  himself  obligated  to  pay 
the  debts  in  full.  As  a  result,  he  wrote  rapidly  in 
spite  of  ill-health,  sorrow  at  the  death  of  his  wife 
in  the  same  year  as  his  failure,  and  worry  over  his 
financial  condition.  He  even  offered  Abbotsford  to 
his  creditors,  but  it  was  refused.  By  the  tenth  of 
June,  1827,  the  amount  he  had  earned  by  writing  to¬ 
ward  diminishing  his  debt  was  at  least  twenty-eight 
thousand  pounds.  There  is  no  doubt  that  his  death 
was  hastened  by  his  worries  and  overwork. 

After  Scott  was  stricken  with  paralysis,  a  result  of 
his  strenuous  work,  he  was  taken  abroad  to  Italy 
by  his  family  in  the  hopes  that  he  might  recover.  He 
was  a  much  honored  guest,  the  most  popular  author  of 
all  Europe.  He  received  every  mark  of  attention.  Vil¬ 
las,  libraries,  and  museums  were  pressed  upon  him. 
The  trip  probably  was  too  great  a  strain  for  him. 
At  any  rate,  he  was  again  stricken  upon  his  return 
to  London.  So  great  was  his  desire  to  reach  Abbots¬ 
ford  that  the  doctors  consented  to  his  being  moved. 
His  satisfaction  at  being  home  made  him  better  for 
a  time.  His  last  days  were  pleasant  for  him,  even 
though  he  felt  sadness  at  feeling  his  vitality  slip  from 
him.  On  September  21,  1832,  Sir  Walter  Scott  died 
quietly.  A  great  figure  in  literature,  he  had  done 
nothing  throughout  his  life  to  mar  his  reputation 
as  a  man,  a  good  man. 


Ivan  hoe 


XVII 


Chronological  List  of  the  Best-Known  Publica¬ 
tions  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

1802 — Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. 

1805 —  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

1806 —  Ballads  and  Lyrical  Pieces. 

1808 — Marmion;  Life  and  Works  of  John  Dry  den. 

1810 —  The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

1811 —  Vision  of  Don  Roderick. 

1813 —  The  Bride  of  Triermain. 

1814 —  Life  and  Works  of  Jonathan  Swift;  Waverley. 

1815 —  Guy  Mannering ;  The  Field  of  Waterloo. 

1816 —  The  Antiquary ;  Tales  of  My  Landlord,  First 
Series  ( The  Black  Dwarf  and  Old  Mortality) . 

1817 —  Rob  Roy. 

1818 —  Tales  of  My  Landlord,  Second  Series  ( The 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.) 

1819 —  Tales  of  My  Landlord,  Third  series  ( The  Bride 
of  Lammermoor  and  Legend  of  Montrose) ; 
lvanhoe . 

1820 —  The  Monastery ;  The  Abbott;  Lives  of  the  Nov¬ 
elists. 

1821 —  Kenilworth ;  The  Pirate. 

1822 —  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel;  Halidon  Hill;  Macduff's 
Gross. 

1823 —  Quentin  Durward;  Essay  on  Romance ;  St. 
Ronan’s  Well. 

1824 —  Redgauntlet. 

1825 —  Tales  of  the  Crusades;  The  Betrothed;  The 

Talisman. 

1826 —  Malachi;  Letters  of  Malagrowther ;  Woodstock. 

1827 —  Life  of  Napoleon  Bounaparte;  Chronicles  of  the 


xviii 


IVANHOE 


C (mongate,  First  Series  ( The  Two  Drovers,  The 
Highland  Widow,  The  Surgeon’s  Daughter); 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  First  Series. 

1828 —  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  Second  Series 
( The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth) ;  Tales  of  a  Grand¬ 
father,  Second  Series. 

1829 —  Ann  of  Geierstein;  History  of  Scotland;  Tales 
of  a  Grandfather,  Third  Series. 

1830 —  The  Doom  of  Devorgoil  and  Auchindrayie;  Es¬ 
says  of  Ballad  Poetry;  Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 
Fourth  Series. 

1831 —  Tales  of  my  Landlord,  Fourth  Series  ( Count 
Robert  of  Paris  and  Castle  Dangerous.) 


Ivan  hoe 


XIX 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS  APPEARING  IN  IVANHOE 

( A  few  minor  characters  have  been  omitted) 

Alicia,  Lady,  daughter  of  Waldemar  Fitzurse. 
Allan-a-Dale,  minstrel  in  Robin  Hood’s  band. 

Ambrose,  a  monk  in  attendance  upon  Prior  Aymer. 

Anselm,  servant  to  Front-de-Bceuf. 

An  wold,  servant  of  Cedric. 

Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh,  a  Saxon  thane. 

Aymer,  prior  of  Cistercian  Abbey  of  Jorvaulx. 
Beaumanoir,  Lucas,  Marquis  de,  Grand  Master  of  the 
Knights  Templars. 

Bigot,  De,  sepeschal  to  Prince  John. 

Black  Knight — Black  Sluggard,  Richard. 

Bois^Guilbert,  Sir  Brian  de,  a  Knights  Templar. 

Bracy,  Sir  Maurice  de,  leader  of  band  of  free  lances. 
Cedric  of  Rot  her  wood,  the  Saxon  thane. 

Clerk  of  Copmanhurst,  Friar  Tuck,  a  hermit. 

|  Pennet,  Father,  peasant. 

;  Disinherited  Knight,  Ivanhoe. 

j  Edith,  Lady,  mother  of  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh. 

,  Elgitha,  maid  of  Lady  Rowena. 

Engebred,  Eustace — of  Front-de-Bceuf’ s  household. 

:  Fitzurse,  Waldem:ar,  a  Norman  baron. 

|  Gilbert,  an  outlaw. 

:  Giles,  servant  of  Front-de-Bceuf. 

I  Grantmesnil,  Hugh  de,  a  Norman  baron. 

|  Ivanhoe,  Sir  Wilfred  of,  son  of  Cedric. 

!  Higg,  Saxon  peasant. 

j  Hubert,  a  forester  in  service  of  Sir  Philip  de  Malvoisin. 

|  Hundebert,  in  Cedric’s  household. 

Isaac  of  York,  the  Jew. 

Ivanhoe,  Sir  Wilfred  of,  son  of  Cedric. 

Jocelyn,  in  Front-de-Boeuf’s  household, 
i  John,  Prince,  brother  of  King  Richard. 

|  Kirjath  J  airman,  Jew ;  kinsman  of  Isaac. 

Knight  of  the*  Fetterlock,  Richard. 

|  Locksley,  Robert,  yeoman. 

I  Malvoisin,  Sir  Albert  de,  Preceptor  of  Knights  Templars. 


XX 


IVANHOE 


Martival,  Stephen  de,  Marshal  of  field  of  Ashby  tourna 
merit. 

Mont-Fitchet,  Preceptor  of  Knight  Templars. 

Nathan  Ben  Israel,  Jewish  rabbi. 

Noir  Faineant,  Le  Richard. 

Oswald,  Baldwin  de,  squire  to  Bois-Guilbert. 

Rebecca,  a  Jewess,  daughter  of  Isaac. 

Richard  Coeur-de-Lion,  King  of  England. 

Robin  Hood,  Locksley. 

Rowena,  Bady,  Saxon  lady ;  ward  of  Cedric. 

Saint  Maub,  servant  of  Front-de-Bceuf. 

Samuel,  Rabbi  Ben,  friend  of  Isaac. 

Stephen,  servant  of  Front-de-Boeuf. 

Ulrica,  Ulfried,  old  Saxon  woman. 

Vipont,  Sir  Ralph  de,  a  Knight  Hospitaller. 

Wamba,  Cedric’s  jester. 

Wibbald,  an  outlaw. 

Woffram,  a  Saxon,  Abbot  of  St.  Edmund’s. 

Wyvil,  William  de,  marshal  of  the  field  at  Ashby  tourna 
ment. 


Ivanhoe 

CHAPTER  I 

Thus,  communed  these;  while  to  their  lowly  dome. 

The  full-fed  swine  return’d  with  evening  home : 

Compell’d,  reluctant,  to  the  several  sties, 

With  din  obstreperous,  and  ungrateful  cries. 

Pope’s  Odyssey. 

In  that  pleasant  district  of  merry  England  which 
is  watered  by  the  river  Don,  there  extended  in  an¬ 
cient  times  a  large  forest,  covering  the  greater  part 
of  the  beautiful  hills  and  valleys  which  lie  between 
Sheffield1  and  the  pleasant  town  of  Doncaster.2 3  The 
remains  of  this  extensive  wood  are  still  to  be  seen 
at  the  noble  seats  of  Wentworth,  of  Wharncliffe 
Park,  and  around  Rotherham.  Here  haunted  of  yore 
the  fabulous  Dragon  of  Wanteys;  here  were  fought 
many  of  the  most  desperate  battles  during  the  Civil 
Wars  of  the  Roses  ;4  and  here  also  flourished  in 
ancient  times  those  bands  of  gallant  outlaws,  whose 
deeds  have  been  rendered  so  popular  in  English 
song. 

'This  city  in  Yorkshire  is  noted  for  cutlery. 

2Tlie  termination  castra ,  derived  from  the  Latin  word 
castra  meaning  “military  camp.”  shows  the  Roman  in¬ 
fluence.  It  is  to  be  found  in  Lancaster,  Leicester,  and 
Chester.  Doncaster  means  the  camp  on  the  river  Don. 

3Wantley,  a  mispronunciation  of  Wharncliffe.  Percy’s 
Reliques  tells  the  legend  of  the  killing  of  the  dragon  by 
More,  a  legendary  hero  clad  in  armor,  who  succeeded  in 
his  heroic  deed  by  attacking  the  monster  in  the  mouth,  the 
only  vulnerable  spot. 

4Civil  wars  in  England  lasting  from  1450-1485.  The  name 
comes  from  the  emblems  of  the  opposing  sides  which  were 
roses,  the  white  rose  the  emblem  of  the  House  of  York 
and  the  red  rose  that  of  the  House  of  Lancaster. 


2 


IVANHOE 


Such  being  our  chief  scene,  the  date  of  our  story 
refers  to  a  period  towards  the  end  of  the  reign  of 
Richard  I.,1  when  his  return  from  his  long  captivity 
had  become  an  event  rather  wished  than  hoped  for 
by  his  despairing  subjects,  who  were  in  the  mean¬ 
time  subjected  to  every  species  of  subordinate  op¬ 
pression.  The  nobles,  whose  power  had  become  ex¬ 
orbitant  during  the  reign  of  Stephen,2  and  whom  the 
prudence  of  Henry  the  Second3  had  scarce  reduced 
*  into  some  degree  of  subjection  to  the  crown,  had 
now  resumed  their  ancient  license  in  its  utmost  ex¬ 
tent;  despising  the  feeble  interference  of  the  En¬ 
glish  Council  of  State,4  fortifying  their  castles,  in¬ 
creasing  the  number  of  their  dependents,  reducing 
all  around  them  to  a  state  of  vassalage,  and  striv¬ 
ing  by  every  means  in  their  power,  to  place  them¬ 
selves  each  at  the!  head  of  such  forces  as  might  en¬ 
able  him  to  make  a  figure  in  the  national  convul¬ 
sions  which  appeared  to  be  impending. 

The  situation  of  the  inferior  gentry,  or  Franklins, 
as  they  were  called,  who,  by  the  law  and  spirit  of  the 
English  constitution,  were  entitled  to  hold  them¬ 
selves  independent  of  feudal  tyranny,0  became  now 
unusually  precarious.  If,  as  was  most  generally  the 
case,  they  placed  themselves  under  the  protection  of 
any  of  the  petty  kings6  in  their  vicinity,  accepted 


^ing  of  England  from  1189-1199.  He  was  absent  for 
long  periods  during  which  he  was  in  one  of  the  Crusades. 
He  was  captured  and  held  in  Austria,  returning  in  1194. 
During  his  absence  his  brother  John  reigned. 
aKing  of  England  1135-1154. 

•King  of  England  1154-1189;  father  of  Richard  I. 

4A  general  name  given  to  the  king’s  advisers. 

®A  freeman  held  land  in  his  own  right,  subject  only  to 
the  king  and  independent  of  lords  or  barons. 

°The  barons. 


IVANHOE 


3 


of  feudal  offices  in  his  household,  or  bound  them¬ 
selves,  by  mutual  treaties  of  alliance  and  protection, 
to  support  him  in  his  enterprises,  they  might  indeed 
purchase  temporary  repose;  but  it  must  be  with  the 
sacrifice  of  that  independence  which  was  so  dear  to 
every  English  bosom,  and  at  the  certain  hazard  of 
being  involved  as  a  party  in  whatever  rash  expedi¬ 
tion  the  ambition  of  their  protector  might  lead  him 
to  undertake.  On  the  other  hand,  such  and  so  mul¬ 
tiplied  were  the  means  of  vexation  and  oppression 
possessed  by  the  great  Barons,  that  they  never 
wanted  the  pretext,  and  seldom  the  will,  to  harass 
and  pursue,  even  to  the  very  edge  of  destruction,  any 
of  their  less  powerful  neighbors,  who  attempted  to 
separate  themselves  from  their  authority,  and  to 
trust  for  their  protection,  during  the  dangers  of  the 
times,  to  their  own  inoffensive  conduct,  and  to  the 
laws  of  the  land. 

A  circumstance  which  greatly  tended  to  enchance 
the  tyranny  of  the  nobility,  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
inferior  classes,  arose  from  the  consequences  of  the 
Conquest  by  Duke  William  of  Normandy.1  Four 
generations  had  not  sufficed  to  blend  the  hostile 
blood  of  the  Normans  and  Anglo-Saxons,  or  to  unite, 
by  common  language  and  mutual  interests,  two  hos¬ 
tile  races,  one  of  which  still  felt  the  elation  of  tri¬ 
umph,  while  the  other  groaned  under  all  the  con¬ 
sequences  of  defeat.  The  power  had  been  complete¬ 
ly  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Norman  nobility,  by 
the  event  of  the  battle  of  Hastings,2  and  it  had  been 

m ' 


’William  the  Conqueror. 

2William  the  Conqueror  invaded  England  and  at  the 
battle  of  Hastings,  1066,  conquered  Harold,  the  English 
king.  He  set  up  the  fuedal  system,  parceling  out  the 
land  to  his  Norman  followers. 


4 


IVANHOE 


used,  as  our  histories  assure  us,  with  no  moderate 
hand.  The  whole  race  of  Saxon  princes  and  nobles 
had  been  extirpated  or  disinherited,  with  few  or  no 
exceptions;  nor  were  the  numbers  great  who  pos¬ 
sessed  land  in  the  country  of  their  fathers,  even  as 
proprietors  of  the  second,  or  of  yet  inferior  classes. 
The  royal  policy  had  long  been  to  weaken,  by  every* 
means,  legal  or  illegal,  the  strength  of  a  part  of  the 
population  which  was  justly  considered  as  nourish¬ 
ing  the  most  inveterate  antipathy  to  their  victor. 
All  the  monarchs  of  the  Norman  race  had  shown 
the  most  marked  predilection  for  their  Norman  sub¬ 
jects;  the  laws  of  the  chase,  and  many  others,  equal¬ 
ly  unknown  to  the  milder  and  more  free  spirit  of 
the  Saxon  constitution,  had  been  fixed  upon  the  neck 
of  the  subjugated  inhabitants,  to  add  weight,  as  it 
were,  to  the  feudal  chains  with  which  they  were 
loaded.  At  court,  and  in  the  castles  of  the  great 
nobles,  where  the  pomp  and  state  of  a  court  was 
emulated,  Norman-French  was  the  only  language 
employed;  in  courts  of  law,  the  pleadings  and  judg¬ 
ments  were  delivered  in  the  same  tongue.  In  short, 
French  was  the  language  of  honor,  of  chivalry,  and 
even  of  justice  while  the  far  more  manly  and  ex¬ 
pressive  Anglo-Saxon  was  abandoned  to  the  use  of 
rustics  and  hinds,  who  knew  no  other.  Still,  how¬ 
ever,  the  neces'sary  intercourse  between  the  lords  of 
the  soil,  and  those  oppressed  (inferior  beings  by, 
whom  that  soil  wa'3  cultivated,  occasioned  the  grad¬ 
ual  formation  of  a  dialect,  compounded  betwixt  the 
French  and  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  iwhich  they  could 
render  themselves  mutually  intelligible  to  each 
other;  and  from  this  necessity  arose  by  degrees  the 
structure  of  our  present  English  language,  in  which 
the  speech  of  the  victors  and  the  vanquished  have 
been  so  happily  blended  together;  and  which  has 


IVANHOE 


5 


since  been  so  richly  improved  by  importations  from 
the  classical  languages,  and  from  those  spoken  by 
the  southern  nations  of  Europe. 

This  state  of  things  I  have  thought  it  necessary 
to  premise  for  the  information  of  the  general  reader, 
who  might  be  apt  to  forget,  that,  although  no  great 
historical  events,  such  as  war  or  insurrection,  mark 
the  existence  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  as  a  separate  peo¬ 
ple  subsequent  to  the  reign  of  William  the  Second1 2; 
yet  the  great  national  distinctions  betwixt  them  and 
their  conquerors,  the  recollection  of  what  they  had 
formerly  been,  and  to  what  they  were  now  reduced, 
continued,  down  to  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Third,'’ 
to  keep  open  the  wounds  which  the  Conque  t  had  in¬ 
flicted,  and  to' maintain  a  line  of  separation  betwixt 
the  descendants  of  the  victor  Normans  and  the  van¬ 
quished  Saxons. 

The  sun  was  setting  upon  one  of  the  rich  grassy 
glades  of  that  forest,  which  we  have  mentioned  in 
the  beginning  of  the  chapter.  Hundreds  of  broad¬ 
headed,  short-stemmed,  wide-branched  oak:,  which 
had  witnessed  perhaps  the  stately  march  of  the 
Roman  soldiery,3  flung  their  gnarled  arms  over  a 
thick  carpet  of  the  most  delicious  greensward;  in 
some  places  they  were  intermingled  with  beeches, 
hollies,  and  copsewood  of  various  descriptions,  so 
closely  as  totally  to  intercept  the  level  beams  of  the 
sinking  sun;  in  others  they  receded  from  each  other, 
forming  those  long  sweeping  vistas,  in  the  intricacy 
of  which  the  eye  delights  to  lose  itself,  while  imagi- 


]The  son  of  the  Conqueror,  William  Rufus,  King  1087- 
1100. 

2King,  1327-1377. 

3The  Romans  beginning  in  55  B.  C.  had  ruled  England 
for  several  hundred  years. 

Question:  How  did  the  present  English  language  grow? 


6 


Ivan  hoe 


nation  considers  them  as  the  paths  to  yet  wilder 
scenes  of  sylvan  solitude.  Here  the  red  rays  of  the 
sun  shot  a  broken  and  discolored  light,  that  parti¬ 
ally  hung  upon  the  shattered  boughs  and  mossy 
trunks  of  the  trees,  and  there  they  illuminated  in 
brilliant  patches  the  portions  of  turf  to  which  they 
made  their  way.  A  considerable  open  space,  in  the 
midst  of  this  glade,  seemed  formerly  to  have  been 
dedicated  to  the  rites  of  Druidical  superstition1; 
for,  on  the  summit  of  a  hillock,  so  regularly  as  to 
seem  artificial,  there  .still  remained  part  of  a  circle 
of  rough  unhewn  stones,  of  large  dimensions. 
Seven  stood  upright;  the  rest  had  been  dislodged 
from  their  places,  probably  by  the  zeal  of  some  con¬ 
vert  of  Christianity,  and  lay,  some  prostrate  near 
their  former  site,  and  others  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
One  large  stone  only  had  found  its  way  to  the  bot¬ 
tom,  and  in  stopping  the  course  of  a  small  brook, 
which  glided  smoothly  round  the  foot  of  the  emin¬ 
ence,  gave,  by  its  opposition,  a  feeble  voice  of  mur¬ 
mur  to  the  placid  and  elsewhere  silent  streamlet. 

The  human  figures  which  completed  this  land¬ 
scape,  were  in  number  two,  partaking,  in  their  dress 
and  appearance,  of  that  wild  and  rustic  character, 
which  belonged  to  the  woodlands  of  the  West-Rid¬ 
ing2  of  Yorkshire  at  that  early  period.  The  elder  of 
these  men  had  a  stern,  savage,  and  wild  aspect.  His 
garment  was  of  the  simplest  form  imaginable,  being 

Hn  the  great  open  spaces  altars  were  erected  for  wor¬ 
ship  by  the  Druids,  the  priests  of  the  ancient  Britons  or 
Celts  in  Gaul,  Britain,  and  Ireland.  The  Druids  not  only 
had  charge  of  matters  of  religion  but  held  offices  of  judi¬ 
cial  character. 

2One  of  the  three  divisions  of  the  county  of  York,  North 
Riding,  East-Riding,  and  West-Riding. 

Question:  How  does  the  paragraph  beginning  on  this 
page  connect  the  preceding  paragraphs  to  those  following? 


IVANHOE 


7 


a  close  jacket  with  sleeves,  composed  of  the  tanned 
skin  of  some  animal,  on  which  the  hair  had  been 
originally  left,  but  which  had  been  worn  oit  in  so 
many  places,  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  dis¬ 
tinguish  from  the  patches  that  remained,  to  what 
creature  the  fur  had  belonged.  This  primeval  vest¬ 
ment  reached  from  the  throat  to  the  knees,  and 
served  at  once  all  the  usual  purposes  of  body-cloth¬ 
ing;  there  was  no  wider  opening  at  the  collar,  than 
was  necessary  to  admit  the  passage  of  the  head, 
from  which  it  may  be  inferred,  that  it  was  put  on  by 
slipping  it  over  the  head  and  shoulders,  in  the  man¬ 
ner  of  a  modern  shirt,  or  ancient  hauberk.1  Sandals, 
bound  with  thongs  made  of  boar’s  hide,  protected 
the  feet,  and  a  roll  of  thin  leather  was  twined  arti¬ 
ficially  round  the  legs,  and,  ascending  above  the 
calf,  left  the  knees  bare,  like  those  of  a  Scottish 
Highlander.  To  make  the  jacket  sit  yet  more  close 
to  the  body,  it  was  gathered  at  the  middle  by  a 
broad  leathern  belt,  secured  by  a  brass  buckle,  to 
one  side  of  which  was  attached  a  sort  of  scrip,  and 
to  the  other  a  ram’s  horn,  accoutered  with  a  mouth¬ 
piece,  for  the  purpose  of  blowing.  In  the  same  belt 
was  stuck  one  of  those  long,  broad,  sharp-pointed, 
and  two-edged  knives,  with  a  buck’s  horn  handle, 
which  were  fabricated  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
bore  even  at  this  early  period  the  name  of  a  Sheffield 
whittle.  The  man  had  no  covering  upon  his  head, 
which  was  only  defended  by  his  own  thick  hair, 
matted  and  twisted  together,  and  scorched  by  the 
influence  of  the  sun  into  a  rusty  dark-red  color, 

1A  coat  of  mail  formed  of  interwoven  steel  rings,  that 
reached  as  far  as  the  knees,  being  cut  in  the  front  and 
in  the  hack  for  convenience  in  riding.  Sleeves  ran  a 
little  below  the  elbow. 

Question  :  What  color  hair  did  Gurth  have? 


8 


1VANH0E 


forming  a  contrast  with  the  overgrown  beard  upon 
his  cheeks,  which  was  rather  of  a  yellow  or  amber 
hue.  One  part  of  his  drec,s  only  remains,  but  it  is 
too  remarkable  to  be  suppressed;  it  was  a  brass 
ring,  resembling  a  dog’s  collar,  but  without  any 
opening,  and  soldered  fast  round  his  neck,  so  loose 
as  to  form  no  impediment  to  his  breathing,  yet  so 
tight  as  to  be  incapable  of  being  removed,  excepting 
by  the  use  of  the  file.  On  this  singular  gorget  was 
engraved,  in  Saxon  characters,  an  inscription  of 
the  following  purport: — “Gurth,  the  son  of  Beowulph, 
is  the  born  thrall  of  Cedric1  of  Rotherwood.” 

Beside  the  swineherd,  for  such  was  Gurth’s  oc¬ 
cupation,  was  seated,  upon  one  of  the  fallen  Druidi- 
cal  monuments,  a  person  about  ten  years  younger  in 
appearance,  and  whose  dress,  though  resembling  hi* 
companion’s  in  form,  was  of  better  materials,  and  of 
a  more  fantastic  appearance.  His  jacket  had  been 
stained  of  a  bright  purple  hue,  upon  which  there 
had  been  some  attempt  to  paint  grotesque  orna¬ 
ments  in  different  colors.  To  the  jacket  he  added  a 
short  cloak,  which  scarcely  reached  half-way  down 
his  thigh.  It  was  of  crimson  cloth,  though  a  good 
deal  soiled,  lined  with  bright  yellow;  and  as  he 
could  transfer  it  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other,  or 
at  his  pleasure  draw  it  all  around  him,  its  width, 
contrasted  with  its  want  of  longitude,  formed  a 
fantastic  piece  of  drapery.  He  had  thin  silver 
bracelets  upon  his  arms,  and  on  his  neck  a  collar 
of  the  same  metal,  bearing  the  inscription,  “Wamba, 
the  son  of  Witless,  is  the  thrall  of  Cedric  of  Rother¬ 
wood”.  This  personage  had  the  same  sort  of  sand¬ 
als  with  his  companion,  but  instead  of  the  roll  of 
leather  thong,  his  legs  were  cased  in  a  sort  of  gait- 

1The  Saxon  form  of  the  name  was  properly  Cerdic  but 
Scott  chose  the  name  Cedric. 


IVANHOE 


9 


ers,  of  which  one  was  red  and  the  other  yellow.  He 
was  provided  also  with  a  cap,  having  around  it  more 
than  one  bell,  about  the  size  of  those  attached  to 
hawks,  which  jingled  as  he  turned  his  head  to  one 
side  or  the  other;  and  as  he  seldom  remained  a 
minute  in  the  same  posture,  the  sound  might  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  incessant.  Around  the  edge  of  this  cap 
was  a  stiff  bandeau  of  leather,  cut  at  the  top  into 
open  work,  resembling  a  coronet,  while  a  prolonged 
bag  arose  from  within  it;  and  fell  down  on  one 
shoulder  like  an  old-fashioned  nightcap,  or  a  jelly- 
bag,  or  the  head-gear  of  a  modern  hussar.  It  was 
to  this  part  of  the  cap  that  the  bells  were  attached ; 
which  circumstance,  as  well  as  the  shape  of  his 
head-dress,  and  his  own  half-crazed,  half-cunning 
]  expression  of  countenance,  sufficiently  pointed  him 
j  out  as  belonging  to  the  race  of  domestic  clowns  or 
jesters,  maintained  in  the  houses  of  the  wealthy,  to 
i  help  away  the  tedium  of  those  lingering  hours  winch 
they  were  obliged  to  spend  within  doors.  He  bore, 
like  his  companion,  a  scrip  attached  to  his  belt,  but 
had  neither  horn  nor  knife,  being  probably  consid- 
I  ered  as  belonging  to  a  class  whom  it  is  esteemed 
I  dangerous  to  intrust  with  edge-tools.  In  place  of 
these,  he  was  equipped  with  a  sword  of  lath,1  re¬ 
sembling  that  with  which  Harlequin  operates  his 
wonders  upon  the  modern  stage. 

The  outward  appearance  of  these  two  men  formed 
scarce  a  stronger  contrast  than  their  looks  and 
i  demeanor.  That  of  the  serf,  or  bondsman,  was  sad 
and  sullen;  his  aspect  was  bent  on  the  ground  with 
!  an  air  of  deep  dejection,  which  might  be  almost  con¬ 
strued  into  apathy,  had  not  the  fire  which  occasion- 
i  ally  sparkled  in  his  red  eye  manifested  that  there 

Similar  to  the  dagger  of  lath  carried  in  the  old  miracle 
and  moral  plays  by  Vice. 


10 


Ivan  hoe 


slumbered,  under  the  appearance  of  sullen  despon¬ 
dency,  a  sense  of  oppression,  and  a  disposition  to 
resistance.  The  looks  of  Wamba,  on  the  otner  hand, 
indicated,  as  usual  with  his  class,  a  sort  of  vacant 
curiosity,  and  fidgety  impatience  of  any  posture  of 
repose,  together  with  the  utmost  self-satisfaction 
respecting  his  own  situation,  and  the  appearance 
which  he  made.  The  dialogue  which  they  main¬ 
tained  between  them,  was  carried  on  in  Anglo- 
Saxon,  which,  as  we  have  said  before,  was  univer¬ 
sally  spoken  by  the  inferior  classes,  excepting  the 
Norman  soldiers  and  the  immediate  personal  depen¬ 
dents  of  the  great  feudal  nobles.  But  to  give  their 
conversation  in  the  original  would  convey  but  little 
information  to  the  modern  reader,  for  whose  benefit 
we  beg  to  offer  the  following  translation: 

“The  curse  of  St.  Withold1  upon  these  infernal 
porkers!”  said  the  swineherd,  after  blowing  his 
horn  obstreperously,  to  collect  together  the  scat¬ 
tered  herd  of  swine,  which,  answering  his  call  with 
notes  equally  melodious,  made,  however,  no  haste  to 
remove  themselves  from  the  luxurious  banquet  of 
beech-mast  and  acorns  on  which  they  had  fattened, 
or  to  forsake  the  marshy  banks  of  the  rivulet,  where 
several  of  them,  half  plunged  in  mud,  lay  stretched 
at  their  ease,  altogether  regardless  of  the  voice  of 
their  keeper.  “The  curse  of  St.  Withold  upon  them 
and  upon  me!”  said  Gurth;  “if  the  two-legged  wold2 3 
snap  not  up  some  of  them  ere  nightfall,  I  am  no  true 
man8.  Here,  Fangs!  Fangs!”  he  ejaculated  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  to  a  ragged,  wolfish-looking  dog,  a 
sort  of  lurcher,  half  mastiff,  half  greyhound,  which 

1An  imaginary  Saxon  saint.  See  Edgar’s  song  in  King 
Lear,  III,  4,  125. 

2The  outlaw  was  supposed  to  bear  a  wolf’s  head. 

3Opposite  of  thief. 


IVANHOE 


11 


ran  limping  about  as  if  with  the  purpose  of  second¬ 
ing  his  master  in  collecting  the  refractory  grunters; 
but  which,  in  fact,  from  misapprehension  of  the 
swineherd’s  signals,  ignorance  of  his  own  duty,  or 
malice  prepense,  only  drove  them  hither  and  thither, 
and  increased  the  evil  which  he  seemed  to  design  to 
remedy.  “A  devil  draw  the  teeth  of  him,”  said 
Gurth,  “and  the  mother  of  mischief  confound  the 
Ranger  of  the  forest,* 1  that  cuts  the  foreclaws  off  our 
i dogs,  and  makes  them  unfit  for  their  trade!  Wam- 
|  ba,  up  and  help  me  an  thou  beest  a  man ;  take  a  turn 
] round  the  back  o’  the  hill  to  gain  the  wind  on  them; 
and  when  thou’st  got  the  weather-gage,2  thou  mayst 
drive  them  before  thee  as  gently  as  so  many  inno¬ 
cent  lambs.” 

“Truly,”  .said  Wamba,  without  stirring  from  the 
|  spot,  “I  have  consulted  my  legs  upon  this  matter, 
and  they  are  altogether  of  opinion,  that  to  carry  my 
gay  garments  through  these  sloughs,  would  be  an 
act  of  unfriendship  to  my  sovereign  person  and  roy¬ 
al  wardrobe;  wherefore,  Gurth,  I  advise  thee  to  call 
off  Fangs,  and  leave  the  herd  to  their  destiny, 
which,  whether  they  meet  with  bands  of  traveling 
soldiers,  or  of  outlaws,  or  of  wandering  pilgrims, 
i  can  be  little  else  than  to  be  converted  into  Norman 
j  before  morning,  to  thy  no  small  ease  and  comfort.” 

“The  swine  turn  Normans  to  my  comfort!” 
quoth  Gurth,  “expound  that  to  me,  Wamba,  for  my 
brain  is  too  dull,  and  my  mind  too  vexed,  to  read 
riddles.” 

’The  Forest  Laws  of  the  Norman  conquerors,  who  were 
lovers  of  the  chase,  provided  for  the  mutilating  of  the 
|  shepherd  dogs  so  that  they  could  not  chase  the  deer.  The 

i  three  claws  of  the  right  foot  were  cut  off  in  this  lawing 
as  it  was  called.  (See  appendix) 

Position  of  advantage,  or  “are  to  windward  of',  a  nau- 
tical  expression. 


12 


IVANHOE 


“Why,,  how  call  you  those  grunting  brutes  run¬ 
ning  about  on  their  four  legs?”  demanded  Wamba. 

“Swine,  fool,  swine,”  said  the  herd;  “every  fool 
knows  that.” 

“And  swine  is  good  Saxon,”  said  the  Jester;  “but 
how  call  you  the  sow  when  she  is  flayed,  and  drawn, 
and  quartered,  and  hung  up  by  the  heels,  like  a 
traitor?” 

“Pork,”  answered  the  swineherd. 

“I  am  very  glad  every  fool  knows  that,  too,”  said 
Wamba;  “and  pork,  I  think,  is  good  Norman- 
French;  and  so  when  the  brute  lives,  and  is  in  the 
charge  of  a  Saxon  slave,  she  goes  by  her  Saxon 
name;  but  becomes  a  Norman,  and  is  called  pork, 
when  she  is  carried  to  the  Castle-hall  to  feast 
among  the  nobles.  What  dost  thou  think  of  this, 
friend  Gurth,  ha?” 

“It  is  but  too  true  doctrine,  friend  Wamba,  how¬ 
ever  it  got  into  thy  fool’s  pate.” 

“Nay,  I  can  tell  you  more,”  said  Wamba,  in  the 
same  tone,  “there  is  old  Alderman  Ox  continues  to 
hold  his  Saxon  epithet,  while  he  is  under  the  charge 
of  serfs  and  bondsmen  such  as  thou,  but  becomes 
Beef,  a  fiery  French  gallant,  when  he  arrives  before 
the  worshipful  jaws  that  are  destined  to  consume 
him.  Mynheer  Calf",  too.  becomes  Monsieur  de  Veau* 2 
in  the  like  manner;  he  is  Saxon  when  he  requires 
tendance,  and  takes  a  Norman  name  when  he  be¬ 
comes  matter  of  enjoyment.” 

“By  St.  Dunstan,”3  answered  Gurth,  “thou 


xMr.  Calf. 

2Mr.  Veal. 

3  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  who  lived  924-988. 

Question:  Think  of  other  words  besides  those  that 
Wamba  gives  that  show  the  distinction  between  the  Nor¬ 
man  and  Saxon  tongues. 


IVANHOE 


13 


speakest  but  sad  truths;  little  is  left  to  us  but  the 
air  we  breathe,  and  that  appears  to  have  been  re¬ 
served  with  much  hesitation,  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  enabling  us  to  endure  the  tasks  they  lay  upon 
our  shoulders.  The  finest  and  the  fattest  is  for 
their  board;  the  loveliest  is  for  their  couch;  the 
best  and  bravest  supply  their  foreign  masters  with 
|  soldiers,  and  whiten  distant  lands  with  their  bones, 

;  leaving  few  here  who  have  either  will  or  the  power 
to  protect  the  unfortunate  Saxon.  God’s  blessing  on 
|  our  Master  Cedric ;  he  hath  done  the  work  of  a  man 
Sin  standing  in  the  gap;  but  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf 
!  is  coming  down  to  this  country  in  person,  and  we 
shall  soon  see  how  little  Cedric’s  trouble  will  avail 
him. — Here,  here,”  he  exclaimed  again,  raising  his 
j  voice.  “So  ho!  so  ho!  well  done,  Fangs!  thou  hast 
I  them  all  before  thee  now,  and  bring’st  them  on 
bravely,  lad.” 

“Gurth,”  said  the  Jester,  “I  know  thou  thinkest  me 
a  fool,  or  thou  wouldst  not  be  so  rash  in  putting 
thy  head  into  my  mouth.  One  word  to  Reginald 
|  Front-de-Boeuf,  or  Philip  de  Malvoisin,  that  thou 
hast  spoken  treason  against  the  Norman, — and  thou 
art  but  a  castaway  swineherd — thou  wouldst  waver 
on  one  of  these  trees  as  a  terror  to  all  evil  speakers 
against  dignities.” 

“Dog,  thou  wouldst  not  betray  me,”  said  Gurth, 
“after  having  led  me  on  to  speak  so  much  at  dis¬ 
advantage?” 

“Betray  thee!”  answered  the  Jester;  “no,  that 
were  the  trick  of  a  wise  man;  a  fool  cannot  half  so 
j  well'  help  himself.- — But  soft,  whom  have  we  here?” 

he  said,  listening  to  the  trampling  of  several  horses 
'  which  became  then  audible. 

“Never  mind  whom,”  answered  Gurth,  who  had 
I  now  got  his  herd  before  him,  and,  with  the  aid  of 


14 


Ivan  hoe 


Fangs,  was  driving  them  down  one  of  the  long  dim 
vistas  which  we  have  endeavored  to  describe. 

“Nay,  but  I  must  see  the  riders,”  answered 
Wamba;  “perhaps  they  are  come  from  Fairyland 
with  a  message  from  King  Oberon.”1 

“A  murrain  take  thee,”  rejoined  the  swineherd; 
“wilt  thou  talk  of  such  things,  while  a  terrible 
storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  is  raging  within  a 
few  miles  of  us?  Hark,  how  the  thunder  rumbles! 
and  for  summer  rain,  I  never  saw  such  broad  down¬ 
right  flat  drops  fall  out  of  the  clouds;  the  oaks,  too, 
notwithstanding  the  calm  weather,  sob  and  creak 
with  their  great  boughs  as  if  announcing  a  tempest. 
Thou  canst  play  the  rational  if  thou  wilt;  credit  me 
for  once,  and  let  us  home  ere  the  storm  begins  to 
rage,  for  the  night  will  be  fearful.” 

Wamba  seemed  to  feel  the  force  of  this  appeal, 
and  accompanied  his  companion,  who  began  his 
journey  after  catching  up  a  long  quarter-staff  which 
lay  upon  the  grass  beside  him.  This  second  Eu- 
maeus"  strode  hastily  down  the  forest  glade,  driving 
before  him,  with  the  assistance  of  Fangs,  the  whole 
herd  of  his  inharmonious  charge. 


Hving*  of  the  fairies.  Titania  was  his  wife.  See  Shakes¬ 
peare’s  Midsummer  Night's  Dream . 

2The  swineherd  of  Ulysses  in  Homer's  The  Odyssey. 
Question  :  How  are  you  prepared  for  new  characters  in 

the  next  chapter? 


CHAPTER  II 


A  Monk  there  was,  a  fayre  for  the  maistrie, 

An  outrider  who  loved  venerie 
A  manly  man,  to  he  an  Abbot  able, 

Full  many  a  dainty  horse  had  he  in  stable : 

And  whan  he  rode,  men  might  his  bridle  hear 
Gingeling  in  a  whistling  wind  as  clear, 

And  eke  as  loud,  as  doth  the  cliapeil  bell, 

There  as  this  lord  was  keeper  of  the  cell. 

Chaucer. 

Notwithstanding  the  occasional  exhortation  and 
childing  of  his  companion,  the  noise  of  the  horse¬ 
men’s  feet  continuing  to  approach,  Wamba  could  not 
be  prevented  from  lingering  occasionally  on  the 
road,  upon  every  pretense  which  occurred;  now 
catching  from  the  hazel  a  cluster  of  half-ripe  nuts, 
iand  now  turning  his  head  to  leer  after  a  cottage 
imaiden  who  crossed  their  path.  The  horsemen, 
itherefore,  soon  overtook  them  on  the  road. 

Their  numbers  amounted  to  ten  men,  of  whom 
the  two  who  rode  foremost  seemed  to  be  persons  of 
j  considerable  importance,  and  the  others  their  attend¬ 
ants.  It  was  not  difficult  to  ascertain  the  condition 
and  character  of  one  of  these  personages.  He  was 
'obviously  an  ecclesiastic  of  high  rank;  his  dress 
was  that  of  a  Cistercian  Monk,1  but  composed  of  ma¬ 
terials  much  finer  than  those  which  the  rule  of  that 
order  admitted-  His  mantle  and  hood  were  of  the 
Ibest  Flanders  cloth,  and  fell  in  ample,  and  not  un¬ 
igraceful  folds,  around  a  handsome,  though  some¬ 
what  corpulent  person.  His  countenance  bore  as 
little  the  marks  of  self-denial,  as  his  habit  indicated 

^One  of  the  monastic  order  founded  as  a  stricter  branch 
of  the  Benedictines  in  109§  at  Citeaux  (Cistercium,  “the 

cisterns”)  in  France* 


16 


IVANHOE 


contempt  of  worldly  splendor.  His  features  might 
have  been  called  good,  had  there  not  lurked  under 
the  pent-house1 2  of  his  eye,  that  sly  epicurean"  twin¬ 
kle  which  indicates  the  cautious  voluptuary.  In 
other  respects,  his  profession  and  situation  had 
taught  him  a  ready  command  over  his  countenance, 
which  he.  could  contract  at  pleasure  into  solemnity, 
although  its  natural  expression  was  that  of  good- 
humored  social  indulgence.  In  defiance  of  convent¬ 
ual  rules,  and  the  edicts  of  popes  and  councils,  the 
sleeves  of  this  dignitary  were  lined  and  turned  up 
with  rich  furs,  his  mantle  secured  at  the  throat 
with  a  golden  clasp,  and  the  whole  dress  proper  to 
his  order  as  much  refined  upon  and  ornamented,  as 
that  of  a  Quaker  beauty  of  the  present  day,  who, 
while  she  retains  the  garb  and  costume  of  her  sect, 
continues  to  give  to  its  simplicity,  by  the  choice  of 
materials  and  the  mode  of  disposing  them,  a  cer¬ 
tain  air  of  coquettish  attraction,  savoring  but  too 
much  of  the  vanities  of  the  world. 

This  worthy  churchman  rode  upon  a  well-fed 
ambling  mule,  whose  furniture  was  highly  deco¬ 
rated.  and  whose  bridle,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  was  ornamented  with  silver  bells.  Tn 
his  seat  he  had  nothing  of  the  awkardness  of  the 
convent,  but  displayed  the  easy  and  habitual  grace 
of  a  well-trained  horseman.  Indeed,  it  eemed  that 
so  humble  a  conveyance  as  a  mule,  in  however  good 
case,  and  however  well  broken  to  a  pleasant  and  ac¬ 
commodating  amble,  was  only  used  by  the  gallant 
monk  for  traveling  on  the  road.  A  lay  brother,3  one 

^‘Sloping  roof.”  The  monk  had  overshadowing  brows.  ■ 

2Refers  to  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus  who  advocated 
pleasure,  especially  eatingg  and  drinking,  as  the  chief  aim 
of  life. 

3One  who  has  not  taken  hoiy  orders  but  who  serves  in  the 
monastery  under  the  same  vows  as  the  priest. 


Ivan  hoe 


17 


of  those  who  followed  in  the  train,  had,  for  his  use 
on  other  occasions,  one  of  the  most  handsome  Span¬ 
ish  jennets1  ever  bred  at  Andalusia,2  which  mer¬ 
chants  used  at  that  time  to  import,  with  great 
trouble  and  risk,  for  the  use  of  persons  of  wealth 
and  distinction.  The  saddle  and  housings  of  this 
superb  palfrey  were  covered  by  a  long  foot-cloth, 
which  reached  nearly  to  the  ground,  and  on  which 
-  where  richly  embroidered  miters,  crosses,  and  other 
i  ecclesiastical  emblems.  Another  lay  brother  led  a 
sumpter  mule,  loaded  probably  with  his  superior’s 
baggage;  and  two  monks  of  hisDwn  order,  of  inferi¬ 
or  station,  rode  together  in  the  rear,  laughing  and 
conversing  with  each  other,  without  taking  much 
notice  of  the  other  members  of  the  cavalcade. 

The  companion  of  the  church  dignitary  was  a  man 
past  forty,  thin,  strong,  tall,  and  muscular;  an  ath¬ 
letic  figure,  which  long  fatigue  and  constant  exer- 
|  cise  seemed  to  have  left  none  of  the  softer  part  of 
the  human  form,  having  reduced  the  whole  to  brawn, 
bones,  and  sinews,  which  had  sustained  a  thousand 
toils,  and  were  ready  to  dare  a  thousand  more.  His 
head  was  covered  with  a  scarlet  cap,  faced  with  fur 
— of  that  kind  which  the  French  call  mortier ,3  from 
its  resemblance  to  the  shape  of  an  inverted  mortar. 
His  countenance  was  therefore  fully  displayed,  and 
its  expression  was  calculated  to  impress  a  degree 
of  awe,  if  not  of  fear,  upon  strangers.  High  fea¬ 
tures,  naturally  strong  and  powerfully  expressive, 
had  been  burnt  almost  into  Negro  blackness  by  con¬ 
stant  exposure  to  the  tropical  sun,  and  might,  in 
their  ordinary  state,  be  said  to  slumber  after  the 
storm  of  passion  had  passed  away;  but  the  projec- 


*A  small  Spanish  saddle  horse. 

2A  division  of  Southern  Spain. 

8A  high  round  cap  with  projecting  crown* 


18 


IVANHOE 


tion  of  the  veins  of  the  forehead,  the  readiness  with 
which  the  upper  lip  and  its  thick  black  mustaches 
quivered  upon  the  slightest  emotion,  plainly  inti¬ 
mated  that  the  tempest  might  be  again  and  easily 
awakened.  His  keen,  piercing,  dark  eyes  told  in 
every  glance  a  history  of  difficulties  subdued,  and 
clangers  dared,  and  seemed  to  challenge  opposition  , 
to  his  wishes,  for  the  pleasure  of  sweeping  it  from 
his  road  by  a  determined  exertion  of  courage  and  \ 
of  will ;  a  deep  scar  on  his  brow  gave  additional  j 
sternness  to  his  countenance,  and  a  sinister  expres-1 
sion  to  one  of  his  eyes,  which  had  been  slightly  in¬ 
jured  on  the  same  occasion,  and  of  which  the  vision 
though  perfect,  was  in  a  slight  and  partial  degree  j 
distorted. 

The  upper  dress  of  this  personage  resembled  that 
of  his  companion  in  shape,  being  a  long  monastic; 
mantle;  but  the  color,  being  scarlet,  showed  that  he 
did  not  belong  to  any  of  the  four  regular  orders  of 
monks.1  On  the  right  shoulder  of  the  mantle  there 
was  cut,  in  white  cloth,  a  cross  of  a  peculiar  form.! 
This  upper  robe  concealed  what  at  first  view  seemed 
rather  inconsistent  with  its  form,  a  shirt,  namely,  of 
linked  mail,  with  sleeves  and  gloves  of  the  same, 
curiously  plaited  and  interwoven,  as  flexible  to  the 
body  a^  those  which  are  now  wrought  in  the  stock¬ 
ing-loom,  out  of  less  obdurate  materials.  The  fore¬ 
part  of  his  thighs,  where  the  folds  of  his  mantle 
permitted  them  to  be  seen,  were  also  covered  with 
linked  mail;  the  knees  and  feet  were  defended  by 
splints,  or  thin  plates  of  steel,  ingeniously  jointed 
upon  each  other;  and  mail  hose,  reaching  from  the 

■'Probably  the  four  orders  of  friars  though  they  were  not 
established  until  after  Richard’s  time.  They  were :  Fran¬ 
ciscans,  or  grey  friars ;  Carmelites,  or  white  friars ;  Au- 

gustinians,  or  black  friars ;  and  Dominicans,  or  black  friars. 

B 


IVANHOE 


19 


ankle  to  the  knee,  effectually  protected  the  legs,  and 
completed  the  rider’s  defensive  armor.  In  his  girdle 
he  wore  a  long  and  double-edged  dagger,  which  was 
the  only  offensive  weapon  about  his  person. 

He  rode,  not  a  mule,  like  his  companion,  but  a 
strong  hackney  for  the  road,  to  save  his  gallant  war- 
horse,  which  a  squire  led  behind,  fully  accoutered 
for  battle,  with  a  chamfron  or  plaited  head-piece 
upon  his  head,  having  a  short  spike  projecting  from 
the  front.  On  one  side  of  the  saddle  hung  a  short 
battle-ax,  richly  inlaid  with  Damascene1 2  carving;  on 
the  other  the  rider’s  plumed  head-piece  and  hood  of 
mail,  with  a  long  two-handed  sword,  used  by  the 
chivalry  of  the  period.  A  second  squire  held  aloft 
nis  master’s  lance,  from  the  extremity  of  which  flut¬ 
tered  a  small  banderole,  or  streamer,  bearing  a  cross 
of  the  same  form  with  that  embroidered  upon  his 
cloak.  He  also  carried  his  small  triangular  shield, 
broad  enough  at  the  top  to  protect  the  breast,  and 
from  thence  diminishing  to  a  point.  It  was  covered 
with  a  scarlet  cloth,  which  prevented  the  device-' 
from  being  seen. 

These  two  squires  were  followed  by  two  atten¬ 
dants,  whose  dark  visages,  white  turbans,  and  the 
Oriental  form  of  their  garments,  showed  them  to  be 
natives  of  some  distant  Eastern  country.  The  whole 
appearance  of  this  warrior  and  his  retinue  was  wild 
and  outlandish;  the  dress  of  his  squires  was  gor¬ 
geous,  and  his  Eastern  attendants3  wore  silver  col¬ 
lars  round  their  throats,  and  bracelets  of  the  same 


Damascus  was  famous  for  its  swords  and  ornamenta¬ 
tion  in  iron  and  steel. 

2The  motto  or  distinctive  badge  on  the  shield. 

3 Scott  says  that  it  would  have  been  natural  for  the  Temp¬ 
lars  to  have  brought  back  slaves  from  the  East;  at  least 
there  is  no  proof  against  it.  (See  appendix) 


20 


IVANHOE 


metal  upon  their  swarthy  arms  and  legs,  of  which 
the  former  were  naked  from  the  elbow,  and  the  lat¬ 
ter  from  mid-leg  to  ankle.  Silk  and  embroidery  dis¬ 
tinguished  their  dresses,  and  marked  the  wealth  and 
importance  of  their  master;  forming,  at  the  same 
time,  a  striking  contrast  with  the  martial  simplicity 
of  his  own  attire.  They  were  armed  with  crooked 
sabers,  having  the  hilt  and  baldric1  inlaid  with  gold, 
and  matched  with  Turkish  daggers  of  yet  more 
costly  workmanship.  Each  of  them  bore  at  his 
•saddle-bow  a  bundle  of  darts  or  javelins,  about  four 
feet  in  length,  having  sharp  steel  heads,  a  weapon 
much  in  use  among  the  Saracens,2  and  of  which  the 
memory  is  yet  preserved  in  the  martial  exercise 
called  El  Jerrid,3  still  practiced  in  the  Eastern  coun¬ 
tries. 

The  steeds  of  these  attendants  were  in  appear¬ 
ance  as  foreign  as  their  riders.  They  were  of  Sara¬ 
cen  origin,  and  consequently  of  Arabian  descent; 
and  their  fine  slender  limbs,  small  fetlocks,  thin 
manes,  and  easy  springy  motion,  formed  a  marked 
contrast  with  the  large-jointed  heavy  horses,  of 
which  the  race  was  cultivated  in  Flanders  and  in 
Normandy,  for  mounting  the  men-at-arms  of  the 
period  in  all  the  panoply  of  plate  and  mail;  and 
which,  placed  by  the  side  of  those  Eastern  coursers, 
might  have  passed  for  a  personification  of  substance 
and  of  shadow. 

The  singular  appearance  of  this  cavalcade  not 


*A  belt  crossing  the  shoulder  and  breast  diagonally  used 
to  support  the  weapon. 

2Fierce  enemies  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  especially 
of  the  crusaders.  They  were  members  of  one  of  the  no- 
madic  tribes  of  the  Syro-Arabian  desert,  and  were  Moham¬ 
medans. 

8 A  military  exercise  or  sham  battle  with  a  short  javelin. 


IVANHOE 


21 


only  attracted  the  curiosity  of  Wamba,  but  excited 
even  that  of  his  less  volatile  companion.  The  monk 
he  instantly  knew  to  be  the  Prior'  of  Jorvaulx  Ab¬ 
bey,"  well  known  for  many  miles  around  as  a  lover 
of  the  chase,  of  the  banquet,  and,  if  fame  did  him 
not  wrong,  of  other  wordly  pleasures  still  more  in¬ 
consistent  with  his  monastic  vows. 

Yet  so  loose  were  the  ideas  of  tne  times  respecting 
the  conduct  of  the  clergy,  whether  secular  or  reg¬ 
ular,  that  the  Prior  Aymer  maintained  a  fair  char¬ 
acter  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  abbey.  His  free 
and  jovial  temper,  and  the  readiness  with  which  he 
granted  absolution  from  all  ordinary  delinquencies, 
rendered  him  a  favorite  among  the  nobility  and  prin¬ 
cipal  gentry,  to  several  of  whom  he  was  allied  by 
birth,  being  of  a  distinguished  Norman  family. 
The  ladies,  in  particular,  were  not  disposed  to  scan 
too  nicely  the  morals  of  a  man  who  was  a  professed 
admirer  of  their  sex,  and  who  possessed  many  means 
of  dispelling  the  ennui  which  was  too  apt  to  intrude 
upon  the  halls  and  bowers  of  an  ancient  feudal  cas- 
j  tie.  The  Prior  mingled  in  the  sports  of  the  field 
I  with  more  than  due  eagerness,  and  was  allowed  to 
possess  the  best-trained  hawks  and  the  fleetest  grey¬ 
hounds  in  the  North  Riding,  circumstances  which 
strongly  recommended  him  to  the  youthful  gentry. 
With  the  old,  he  had  another  part  to  play,  which, 
when  needful,  he  could  sustain  with  great  decorum.  * 
His  knowledge  of  books,  however  superficial,  was 


*Next  in  rank  to  the  abbott.  Aymer  was  called  both  Prior 
and  Abbot,  without  distinction  between  the  head  of  an 
Abbey  and  the  head  of  Priory. 

2This  Cistercian  Abbey  was  in  the  valley  of  the  river 
Jore  or  Ure  in  North  Riding  of  Yorkshire. 

Question  :  How  many  different  classes  of  people  liked 
the  Prior? 


22 


IVANHOE 


sufficient  to  impress  upon  their  ignorance  respect 
for  his  supposed  learning;  and  the  gravity  of  his 
deportment  and  language,  with  the  high  tone  wnich 
he  exerted  in  setting  forth  the  authority  of  the 
church  and  of  the  priesthood,  impressed  them  no  less 
with  an  opinion  of  his  sanctity.  Even  the  com¬ 
mon  people,  the  severest  critics  of  the  conduct  of 
their  betters,  had  commiseration  with  the  follies  of 
Prior  Aymer.  He  was  generous;  and  charity,  as 
it  is  well  known,  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins,1  in  an¬ 
other  sense  than  that  in  which  it  is  said  to  do  so 
in  Scripture.  The  revenues  of  the  monastery,  of 
which  a  large  part  was  at  his  disposal,  while  they 
gave  him  the  means  of  supplying  his  own  very  con¬ 
siderable  expenses,  afforded  also  those  largesses 
which  he  bestowed  among  the  peasantry,  and  with 
which  he  frequently  relieved  the  distresses  of  the 
oppressed.  If  Prior  Aymer  rode  hard  in  the  chase, 
or  remained  long  at  the  banquet, — if  Prior  Aymer 
was  seen,  at  the  early  peep  of  dawn,  to  enter  the 
postern  of  the  abbey,  as  he  glided  home  from  some 
rendezvous  which  had  occupied  the  hours  of  dark¬ 
ness,  men  only  shrugged  up  their  shoulders,  and  rec¬ 
onciled  themselves  to  his  irregularities,  by  recollect¬ 
ing  that  the  same  were  practiced  by  many  of  his 
brethren  who  had  no  redeeming  qualities  whatsoever 
to  atone  for  them.  Prior  Aymer,  therefore,  and  his 
•character,  were  well  known  to  our  Saxon  serfs,  who 
made  their  rude  obeisance  and  received  his  “bene- 
dicte  mes  fils,”2  in  return. 

But  the  singular  appearance  of  his  companion 
and  his  attendants,  arrested  their  attention  and  ex¬ 
cited  their  wonder,  and  they  could  scarcely  attend  to 
the  Prior  of  Jorvaulx’  question,  when  he  demanded 


"Peter  IV.  S.  charity — love. 
2Bless  you,  my  sons. 


IVANHOE 


23 


if  they  knew  of  any  place  of  harborage  in  the  vicin¬ 
ity;  so  much  were  they  surprised  at  the  half  mon¬ 
astic,  half  military  appearance  of  the  swarthy  stran¬ 
ger,  and  at  the  uncouth  dress  and  arms  of  his  East¬ 
ern  attendants.  It  is  probable,  too,  that  the  lan¬ 
guage  in  which  the  benediction  was  conferred,  and 
the  information  asked,  sounded  ungracious,  though 
not  probably  unintelligible,  in  the  ears  of  the  Saxon 
peasants. 

“I  asked  you,  my  children/’  said  the  Prior,  rais¬ 
ing  his  voice,  and  using  the  lingua  Franca,  or  mixed 
language,  in  which  the  iNiorman  and  Saxon  races 
conversed  with  each  other,  “if  there  be  in  this  neigh¬ 
borhood  any  good  man,  who,  for  the  love  of  God, 
and  devotion  to  Mother  Church,  will  give  two  of 
(  her  humblest  servants,  with  their  train,  a  night’s 
!  hospitality  and  refreshment?” 

This  he  spoke  with  a  tone  of  conscious  impor¬ 
tance,  which  formed  a  strong  contrast  to  the  modest 
terms  which  he  thought  it  proper  to  employ. 

“Two  of  the  humblest  servants  of  Mother 
Church!”  repeated  Wamba  to  himself, — but,  fool  as 
he  was,  taking  care  not  to  make  his  observation 
audible;  “I  should  like  to  see  her  seneschals,  her 
chief  butlers,  and  her  other  principal  domestics!” 

After  this  internal  commentary  on  the  Prior's 
speech,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  replied  to  the  ques¬ 
tion  which  had  been  put. 

“If  the  reverend  fathers,”  he  said,  “loved  good 
|  cheer  and  soft  lodging,  few  miles  of  riding  would 
|  carry  them  to  the  Priory  of  Brinxworth,  where  their 
!  quality  could  not  but  secure  them  the  most  honor¬ 
able  reception;  or  if  they  preferred  spending  a 
penitential  evening;  they  might  turn  down  yonder 
wild  glade,  which  would  bring  them  to  the  hermit¬ 
age  of  Copmanhurst,  where  a  pious  anchoret  would 


24 


IVANHOE 


make  them  sharers  for  the  night  of  the  shelter  of 
his  roof  and  the  benefit  of  his  prayers.” 

The  Prior  shook  his  head  at  both  proposals. 

“Mine  honest  friend,”  said  he,  “if  the  jangling 
of  thy  bells  had  not  dizzied  thine  understanding, 
thou  mightst  know  Clericus  clericum  non  decimat; 
that  is  to  say,  we  churchmen  do  not  exhaust  each 
other’s  hospitality,  but  rather  require  that  of  the 
laity;  giving  them  thus  an  opportunity  to  serve  God 
in  honoring  and  relieving  his  appointed  servants.” 

“It  is  true,”  replied  Wamba,  “that  I,  being  but 
an  ass,  am,  nevertheless,  honored  to  bear  the  bells 
as  well  as  your  reverence’s  mule;  notwithstanding,  I 
did  conceive  that  the  charity  of  Mother  Church  and 
her  servants  might  be  said,  with  other  charity,  to 
begin  at  home.” 

“A  truce  to  thine  insolence,  fellow,”  said  the 
armed  rider,  breaking  in  on  his  prattle  with  a  high 
and  stern  voice,  “and  tell  us,  if  thou  canst,  the 

road  to -  How  call’d  you  your  Franklin,  Prior 

Aymer?” 

“Cedric,”  answered  the  Prior;  “Cedric  the  Saxon. 
— Tell  me,  good  fellow,  are  we  near  his  dwelling, 
and  can  you  show  us  the  road?” 

“The  road  will  be  uneasy  to  find,”  answered 
Gurth,  who  broke  silence  for  the  first  time,  “and  the 
family  of  Cedric  retire  early  to  rest.” 

“Tush,  tell  'not  me,  fellow!”  said  the  military 
rider;  “’tis  easy  for  them  to  arise  and  supply  the 
wants  of  travelers  such  as  we  are,  who  will  not 
stoop  to  beg  the  hospitality  which  we  have  a  right 
to  command.” 

“I  know  not,”  said  Gurth,  sullenly,  “if  I  should 
show  the  way  to  my  master’s  house,  to  those  who 
demand  as  a  right,  the  shelter  which  most  are  fain 
to  ask  as  a  favor.” 


IVANHOE 


25 


“Do  you  dispute  with  me,  slave!”  said  the  soldier; 
and,  setting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  caused  him  to 
make  a  demivolte1  across  the  path,  raising  at  the 
same  time  the  guiding  rod  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
with  a  purpose  of  chastising  what  he  considered  as 
the  insolence  of  the  peasant. 

Gurth  darted  at  him  a  savage  and  revengeful 
scowl,  and  with  a  fierce,  yet  hesitating  motion,  laid 
his  hand  on  the  haft  of  his  knife;  but  the  inter¬ 
ference  of  Prior  Aymer,  who  pushed  his  mule  be¬ 
twixt  his  companion  and  the  swineherd,  prevented 
the  meditated  violence. 

“Nay,  by  St.  Mary,  brother  Brian,  you  must  not 
think  you  are  now  in  Palestine,  predominating  over 
heathen  Turks  and  infidel  Saracens;  we  islanders 
love  not  blows,  save  those  of  holy  Church,  who 
j  chasteneth  whom  she  loveth. — Tell  me,  good  fellow,” 

|  said  he  to  Wamba,  and  seconded  his  speech  by  a 
j  small  piece  of  silver  coin,  “the  way  to  Cedric  the 
j  Saxon’s ;  you  cannot  be  ignorant  of  it,  and  it  is  your 
i  duty  to  direct  the  wanderer  even  when  his  character 
I  is  less  sanctified  than  ours.” 

“In  truth,  venerable  father,”  answered  the  Jes¬ 
ter,  “the  Saracen  head  of  your  right  reverend  com¬ 
panion  has  frightened  out  of  mine  the  way  home — 
I  am  not  sure  I  shall  get  there  to-night  myself.” 

“Tush,”  said  the  Abbot,  “thou  canst  tell  us  if 
thou  wilt.  This  reverend  brother  has  been  all  his 
life  engaged  in  fighting  among  the  Saracens  for  the 
recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher,2  he  is  of  the  order 


1A  half-turn  with  the  fore-legs  raised  from  the  ground. 

2A11  the  Christian  world  was  aglow  with  religious  fervor 
to  wrest  the  Holy  Land  from  the  Mohammedans.  Military 
expeditions  known  as  the  Crusades  were  made  for  that 
purpose.  In  the  First  Crusade  1096-1099  Jerusalem  was 
taken.  The  Mohammedans  took  it  again  in  the  Third  Cru- 


26 


Ivan  hoe 


of  Knights  Templars1  whom  you  may  have  heard  of; 
he  is  half  a  monk,  half  a  soldier.” 

“If  he  is  but  half  a  monk,”  said  the  Jester,  “he 
should  not  be  wholly  unreasonable  with  those  whom 
he  meets  upon  the  road,  even  if  they  should  be  in 
no  hurry  to  answer  questions  that  no  way  concern 
them.” 

“I  forgive  thy  wit,”  replied  the  Abbot,  “on  con¬ 
dition  thou  wilt  show  me  the  way  to  Cedric’s  man¬ 
sion.” 

“Well,  then,”  answered  Wamba,  “your  reverences 
must  hold  on  this  path  till  you  come  to  a  sunken 
cross,  of  which  scarce  a  cubit’s  length  remains  above 
ground;  then  take  the  path  to  the  left,  for  there 
are  four  which  meet  at  Sunken  Cross,  and  I  trust 
your  reverences  will  obtain  shelter  before  the  storm 
comes  on.” 

The  Abbot  thanked  (his  sage  adviser;  and  the 
cavalcade,  setting  spurs  to  their  horses,  rode  on  as 
men  do  who  wish  to  reach  their  inn  before  the  burst¬ 
ing  of  a  night-storm.  As  their  horses’  hoofs  died 
away,  Gurth  said  to  his  companion,  “If  they  follow 
thy  wise  direction,  the  reverend  fathers  will  hardly 
reach  Rotherwood  this  night.” 

“No,”  said  the  Jester,  grinning,  “but  they  may 
reach  Sheffield  if  they  have  good  luck,  and  that  is  as 
fit  a  place  for  them.  I  am  not  so  bad  a  woodsman  as 
to  show  the  dog  where  the  deer  lies,  if  I  have  no 
mind  he  should  chase  him.” 

“Thou  art  right,”  said  Gurth;  “it  were  ill  that 
Aymer  saw  the  Lady  Rowena;  and  it  were  worse,  it 
sade.  Richard,  the  Lion  Heart  of  England  was  one  of  the 
three  leaders. 

XA  military  order  founded  in  Jerusalem  early  in  the 
twelfth  century  to  protect  pilgrims  to  Jerusalem  and  to 
protect  the  Holy  Sepulcher.  Their  influence  and  wealth 
spread  in  years. 


IVANHOE 


27 


may  be,  for  Cedric  to  quarrel,  as  is  most  likely  he 
would,  with  this  military  monk.  But,  like  good 
servants,  let  us  hear  and  see,  and  say  nothing/ 

We  return  to  the  riders,  who  had  soon  left  the 
bondsmen  far  behind  them,  and  who  maintained  the 
following  conversation  in  the  Norman-French  lan¬ 
guage,  usually  employed  by  the  superior  classes, 
with  che  exception  of  the  few  who  were  still  inclined 
to  boast  their  Saxon  descent. 

“What  mean  these  fellows  by  their  capricious  in¬ 
solence?”  said  the  Templar  to  the  Cistercian,  “and 
why  did  you  prevent  me  from  chastising  it?” 

“Marry,* 1  brother  Brian,”  replied  the  Prior,  “touch¬ 
ing  the  one  of  them,  it  were  hard  for  me  to  render 
a  reason  for  a  fool  speaking  according  to  his  folly; 
and  the  other  churl  is  of  that  savage,  fierce,  in¬ 
tractable  race,  some  of  whom,  as  I  have  often  told 
you,  are  still  to  be  found  among  the  descendants  of 
the  conquered  Saxons,  and  whose  supreme  pleasure 
it  is  to  Testify,  by  all  means  in  their  power,  their 
aversion  to  their  conquerors.” 

“I  would  soon  have  beat  him  into  courtesy,”  ob¬ 
served  Brian;  “I  am  accustomed  to  deal  with  such 
spirits.  Our  Turkish  captives  are  as  fierce  and  in¬ 
tractable  as  Odin*  himself  could  have  been;  yet  two 
months  in  my  household  under  the  management  of 
my  master  of  the  slaves,  has  made  them  humble, 
submissive,  serviceable,  and  observant  of  your  will. 
Marry,  sir,  you  must  beware  of  the  poison  and  the 
dagger;  for  they  use  either  with  free  will  when 
you  give  them  the  slightest  opportunity.” 

“Ay,  but,”  answered  Prior  Aymer,  “every  land 
has  its  own  manners  and  fashions;  and,  besides  that. 


'An  exclamation,  abbreviation  of  Mary  or  St.  Mary  re¬ 
ferring  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

I  2Chief  God  of  Teutons,  according  to  a  Norse  myth. 


28 


IVANHOE 


beating  this  fellow  could  procure  us  no  information 
respecting  the  road  to  Cedric’s  house,  it  would  have 
been  sure  to  have  established  a  quarrel  betwixt  you 
and  him  had  we  found  our  way  thither.  Remember 
what  I  told  you;  this  wealthy  Franklin  is  proud, 
fierce,  jealous,  and  irritable;  a  withstander  of  the 
nobility,  and  even  of  his  neighbors,  Reginald  Front- 
de-Boeuf,  and  Philip  Malvoisin,  who  are  no  babes 
to  strive  with.  He  stands  up  so  sternly  for  the  priv¬ 
ileges  of  his  race,  and  is  so  proud  of  his  uninter¬ 
rupted  descent  from  Hereward,1  a  renowned  cham¬ 
pion  of  the  Heptarchy,2  that  he  is  universally  called 
Cedric  the  Saxon;  and  makes  a  boast  of  his  belong¬ 
ing  to  a  people  from  whom  many  others  endeavor  to 
hide  their  descent,  lest  they  should  encounter  a 
share  of  the  vae  victis,3  or  severities  imposed  upon 
the  vanquished.” 

“Prior  Aymer,”  said  the  Templar,  “you  are  a 
man  of  gallantry,  learned  in  the  study  of  beauty, 
and  as  expert  as  a  troubadour  in  all  matters  con¬ 
cerning  che  arrets  of  love ;  but  I  shall  expect  much 
beauty  in  this  celebrated  Rowena,  to  counterbalance 
the  self-denial  and  forbearance  which  I  must  exert, 
if  I  am  to  court  the  favor  of  such  a  seditious  churl 
as  you  have  described  her  father  Cedric.” 

“Cedric  is  not  her  father,”  replied  the  Prior, 
“and  is  but  of  remote  relation;  she  is  descended 
from  higher  blood  than  even  he  pretends  to,  and  is 

3  One  of  the  Saxon  warriors  who  continued  to  wage  war 
against  William  and  the  Normans  after  the  Conquest. 

"'Seven  Saxon  states  established  in  early  England,  Essex, 
Sussex,  Wassex,  East  Angilo,  Northumbria,  Kent,  Mercia. 
Hereward  died  in  the  eleventh  century  and  the  Heptarchy 
ended  in  the  ninth.  This  is  either  an  anachronism  in  the 
story  or  the  Prior  was  to  be  represented  as  ignorant  of 
history. 

3Woe  to  the  conquered. 


IVANHOE 


29 


but  distantly  connected  with  him  by  birth.  Hef 
guardian,  however,  he  is,  self-constituted  as  I  be¬ 
lieve;  but  his  ward  is  as  dear  to  him  as  if  she  were 
his  own  child.  Of  her  beauty  you  shall  soon  be 
judge;  and  if  the  purity  of  her  complexion,  and  the 
majestic  yet  soft  expression  of  a  mild  blue  eye,  do 
not  chase  from  your  memory  the  black-tressed  girls 
of  Palestine,  ay,  or  the  houris  of  old  Mahound’s 
paradise,  I  am  an  infidel,  and  no  true  son  of  the 
church.” 

“Should  your  boasted  beauty,”  said  the  Templar, 
“be  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting,  you 
known  our  wager?” 

“My  gold  collar,”  answered  the  Prior,  “against 
[ten  butts  of  Chian1  wine; — they  are  mine  as  securely 
as  if  they  were  already  in  the  convent  vaults,  under 
the  key  of  old  Dennis  the  cellarer.” 

“And  I  am  myself  to  be  judge,”  said  the  Templar, 
“and  I  am  only  to  be  convicted  on  my  own  admis¬ 
sion,  that  I  have  seen  no  maiden  so  beautiful  since 
Pentecost2  was  a  twelve-month.  Ran  it  not  so? — 
Prior,  your  collar  is  in  danger;  I  will  wear  it  over 
my  gorget  in  the  lists  of  Ashby-de-la-Zouche.”3 

“Win  it  fairly,”  said  the  Prior,  “and  wear  it  as 
ye  will;  I  will  trust  your  giving  true  response,  on 
your  word  as  a  knight  and  as  a  churchman.  Yet, 
brother,  take  my  advice,  and  file  your  tongue  to  a 
little  more  courtesy  than  your  habits  of  predominat¬ 
ing  over  infidel  captives  and  Eastern  bondsmen 
have  accustomed  you.  Cedric  the  Saxon,  if  offended, 
— and  ne  is  no  way  slack  in  taking  offense, — is  a 
man  who,  without  respect  to  your  knighthood,  my 

i - 

i  *A  Greek  wine. 

2 A  festival  fifty  days  after  Easter,  in  celebration  of  the 
descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost  upon  the  Apostles. 

3A  town  in  Leicester  County,  England. 


30 


IVANHOE 


high  office,  or  the  sanctity  of  either,  would  clear  his 
house  of  us,  and  send  us  to  lodge  with  the  larks, 
thougn  the  hour  were  midnight.  And  be  careful 
how  you  look  on  Rowena,  whom  he  cherishes  with 
the  most" jealous  care;  an1  he  take  the  least  alarm 
in  that  quarter  we  are  but  lost  men.  It  said  he 
banished  his  only  son  from  his  family  for  lifting 
his  eyes  in  the  way  of  affection  towards  this  beauty 
who  may  be  worshiped,  it  seems,  at  a  distance,  but 
is  not  to  be  approached  with  other  thought  thar 
such  as  we  bring  to  the  shrine  of  the  Blessed  Vir 
gin.” 

“Well,  you  have  said  enough,”  answered  the 
Templar;  “I  will  for  a  night  put  on  the  needful  re 
straint,  and  deport  me  as  meekly  as  a  maiden;  bu 
as  for  the  fear  of  his  expelling  us  by  violence,  my 
self  and  squires,  with  Harriet  and  Abc^alla,3  wil 
warrant  you  against  that  disgrace.  Doubt  not  tha 
we  shall  be  strong  enough  to  make  good  our  quar 
ters.” 

“We  must  not  let  it  come  so  far,”  answered  th 
Prior;  "but  here  is  the  clown's  sunken  cross,  am 
the  night  is  so  dark  that  we  can  hardly  see  whie'. 
of  the  roads  we  are  to  follow.  He  bid  us  turn, 
think,  to  the  left.” 

“To  the  right,”  said  Brian,  “to  the  best  of  m 
remembrance.” 

“To  the  left,  certainly,  the  left;  I  remember  hi 
pointing  with  his  wooden  sword.” 

“Ay,  but  he  held  his  sword  in  his  left  hand,  an 
so  pointed  across  his  body  with  it,”  said  the  Temi 
lar. 

Each  maintained  his  opinion  with  sufficient  o! 

*And  if. 

Two  of  the  Templar’s  Saracen  slaves.  I 

Question:  What  Is  the  wager  made  about  Roweua? 

. 


IVANHOE 


31 


stinacy,  as  is  usual  in  all  such  cases ;  the  attendants 
were  appealed  to,  but  they  had  not  been  near 
enough  to  hear  Wamba’s  directions.  At  length  Brian 
remarked,  what  had  at  first  escaped  him  in  the  twi¬ 
light.  “Here  is  some  one  either  asleep,  or  lying 
dead  at  the  foot  of  this  cross — Hugo,  stir  him  with 
the  but-end  of  thy  lance.” 

This  was  no  sooner  done  than  the  figure  arose, 
exclaiming  in  good  French,  “Whosoever  thou  art,  it 
is  discourteous  in  you  to  disturb  my  thoughts.” 

“We  did  but  wish  to  ask  you,”  said  the  Prior, 
“the  road  to  Rotherwood,  the  abode  of  Cedric  the 
Saxon.” 

“I  myself  am  bound  thither,”  replied  the  stran¬ 
ger;  “and  if  I  had  a  horse,  I  would  be  your  guide, 
for  the  way  is  somewhat  intricate,  though  perfectly 
well  known  to  me.” 

“Thou  shalt  have  both  thanks  and  reward,  my 
friend,”  said  the  Prior,  “if  thou  wilt  bring  us  to 
Cedric’s  in  safety.” 

And  he  caused  one  of  his  attendants  to  mount  his 
own  led  horse,  and  give  that  upon  which  he  had 
hitherto  ridden  to  the  stranger,  who  was  to  serve 
for  a  guide. 

Their  conductor  pursued  an  opposite  road  from 
that  which  Wamba  had  recommended,  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  misleading  them.  The  path  soon  led  deeper 
into  the  woodland,  and  crossed  more  than  one  brook, 

I  the  approach  to  which  was  rendered  perilous  by  the 
marshes  through  which  it  flowed;  but  the  stranger 
seemed  to  know,  as  if  by  instinct,  the  soundest 
ground  and  the  safest  points  of  passage;  and  by 
dint  of  caution  and  attention,  brought  the  party  safe¬ 
ly  into  a  wider  avenue  than  any  they  had  yet  seen'; 
and,  pointing  to  a  large,  low,  irregular  building  at 
the  upper  extremity,  he  said  to  the  Prior,  “Yonder 


32 


Ivan  hoe 


is  Rotherwood,  the  dwelling  of  Cedric  the  Saxon.” 

This  was  a  joyful  intimation  to  Aymer,  whose 
nerves  were  none  of  the  strongest,  and  who  had 
suffered  such  agitation  and  alarm  in  the  course  of 
passing  through  the  dangerous  bogs,  that  he  had  not 
yet  had  the  curiosity  to  ask  his  guide  a  single  ques¬ 
tion.  Finding  himself  now  at  his  ease  and  near  shel¬ 
ter,  his  curiosity  began  to  awake,  and  he  demanded 
of  the  guide  who  and  what  he  was. 

“A  Palmer,1  just  returned  from  the  Holy  Land,” 
was  the  answer. 

“You  had  better  have  tarried  there  to  fight  for 
the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher,”  said  the  Tem¬ 
plar. 

“True,  Reverend  Sir  Knight,”2  answered  the 
Palmer,  to  whom  the  appearance  of  the  Templar 
seemed  perfectly  familiar;  “but  when  those  who  are 
under  oath  to  recover  the  holy  city,  are  found  travel¬ 
ing  at  such  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  their  duties, 
can  you  wonder  that  a  peaceful  peasant  like  me 
should  decline  the  task  which  they  have  aban¬ 
doned?” 

The  Templar  would  have  made  an  angry  reply,  but 
was  interrupted  by  the  Prior,  who  again  expressed 
his  astonishment  that  their  guide,  after  such  long 
absence,  should  be  iso  perfectly  acquainted  with  the 
passes  of  the  forest.  * 

“I  was  born  a  native  of  these  parts,”  answered 
their  guide,  and  as  he  made  the  reply  they  stood 
before  the  mansion  of  Cedric ; — a  low,  irregular 
building  containing  several  courtyards  or  inclo^ures, 
extending  over  a  considerable  space  of  ground,  and 


JA  professional  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  places  of  Jerusalem 
who  brought  home  a  palm  branch  as  a  token. 

2The  Templars  were  bound  by  oath  to  retake  Jerusalem. 
Question  :  Do  you  guess  now  who  the  Palmer  is? 


IVANHOE 


33 


which,  though  its  size  argued  the  inhabitant  to  be 
a  person  of  wealth,  differed  entirely  from  the  tall, 
turreted,  and  castellated  buildings  in  which  the  Nor¬ 
man  nobility  resided,  and  which  had  become  the 
universal  style  of  architecture  throughout  England. 

Rotherwood  was  not,  however,  without  defenses; 
no  habitation,  in  that  disturbed  period,  could  have 
been  so,  without  the  risk  of  being  plundered  and 
burnt  before  the  next  morning.  A  deep  fosse,  or 
ditch,  was  drawn  round  the  whole  building,  and 
filled  with  water  from  a  neighboring  stream.  A 
double  stockade,  or  palisade,  composed  of  pointed 
beams,  which  the  adjacent  forest  supplied,  defended 
the  outer  and  inner  bank  of  the  trench.  There  was 
an  entrance  from  the  west  through  the  outer  stock¬ 
ade,  which  communicated  by  a  drawbridge,  with  a 
similar  opening  in  the  interior  defenses.  Some  pre¬ 
cautions  had  been  taken  to  place  those  entrances 
under  the  protection  of  projecting  angles,  by  which 
they  might  be  flanked  in  case  of  need  by  archers  or 
slingers. 

Before  this  entrance  the  Templar  wound1  his  horn 
loudly;  for  the  rain,  which  had  long  threatened,  be¬ 
gan  now  to  descend  with  great  violence. 


’Blew.  (See  dictionary.) 

Question  :  Why  was  Cedric  impatient  over  the  absence 
of  Gurth  and  Wamba? 


CHAPTER  III 


Then  (sad  relief!)  from  the  bleak  coast  that  hears 
The  tierman  Ocean  roar,  deep-booming,  strong, 

And  yellow-hair'd.  the  blue-eyed  Saxon  came. 

Thomson’s  Liberty. 


In  a  hall,  the  height  of  which  was  greatly  dispro- 
portioned  to  its  extreme  length  and  width,  a  long 
oaken  table,  formed  of  planks  rough-hewn  from  the 
forest,  and  which  had  scarcely  received  any  polish, 
stood  ready  prepared  for  the  evening  meal  of  Cedric 
the  Saxon.  The  roof,  composed  of  beams  and  raf¬ 
ters,  had  nothing  to  divide  the  apartment  from  the 
sky  excepting  the  planking  and  thatch;  there  was  a 
huge  fireplace  at  either  end  of  the  hall,  but,  as  the 
chimneys  were  constructed  in  a  very  clumsy  man¬ 
ner,  at  least  as  much  of  the  smoke  found  its  way 
into  the  apartment  as  escaped  by  the  proper  vent. 
The  constant  vapor  which  this  occasioned,  had  pol¬ 
ished  the  rafters  and  beams  of  the  low-browed  hall, 
by  incrusting  them  with  a  black  varnish  of  soot.  On 
the  side  3  of  the  apartment  hung  implements  of  war 
and  of  the  chase,  and  there  were  at  each  corner 
folding  doors,  which  gave  access  to  other  parts  of 
the  extensive  building. 

The  other  appointments  of  the  mansion  partook  of 
the  rude  simplicity  of  the  Saxon  period,  which  Ced¬ 
ric  piqued  himself  upon  maintaining.  The  floor  was 
composed  of  earth  mixed  with  lime,  trodden  into  a 
hard  substance,  such  as  is  often  employed  in  flooring 
our  modern  barns.  For  about  one  quarter  of  the 
length  of  the  apartment,  the  floor  was  raised  by  a 
step,  and  this  space,  which  was  called  the  dais,  was 
occupied  only  by  the  principal  members  of  the  fam¬ 
ily,  and  visitors  of  distinction.  For  this  purpose, 
a  table  richly  covered  with  scarlet  cloth  was  placed 


IVANHOE 


35 


transversely  across  the  platform,  from  the  middle  of 
which  ran  the  longer  and  lower  board,  at  which  the 
domestics  and  inferior  persons  fed,  down  towards 
the  bottom  of  the  hall.  The  whole  resembled  the 
form  of  the  letter  T,  or  some  of  those  ancient  dinner- 
tables,  which,  arranged  on  the  same  principles,  may 
be  still  ''seen  in  the  antique  Colleges  of  Oxford  or 
Cambridge.  Massive  chairs  and  .settles  of  carved 
oak  were  placed  upon  the  dais,  and  over  these  seats 
and  the  more  elevated  table  was  fastened  a  canopy 
of  cloth,  which  served  in  some  degree  to  protect  the 
dignitaries  who  occupied  that  distinguished  station 
from  the  weather,  and  especially  from  the  rain, 
which  in  some  places  found  its  way  through  the  ill- 
constructed  roof. 

The  walls  of  this  upper  end  of  the  hall,  as  far  as 
the  dais  extended,  were  covered  with  hangings  or 
curtains,  and  upon  the  ffoor  there  was  a  carpet,  both 
of  which  were  adorned  with  some  attempts  at  tapes¬ 
try,  or  embroidery,  executed  with  brilliant  or  rather 
gaudy  coloring.  0(ver  the  lower  range  of  table,  the 
roof,  as  we  have  noticed,  had  no  covering ;  the  rough 
plastered  walls  were  left  bare,  and  the  rude  earthen 
floor  was  uncarpeted ;  the  board  was  uncovered  by  a 
cloth,  and  rude  massive  benches  supplied  the  place 
of  chairs. 

In  the  center  of  the  upper  table  were  placed  two 
chairs  more  elevated  than  the  rest,  for  the  master 
and  mistress  of  the  family,  who  presided  over  the 
scene  of  hospitality,  and  from  doing  so  derived  their 
Saxon  title  of  honor,  which  signifies  “the  Dividers 
of  Bread/’1 

To  each  of  these  chairs  was  added  a  footstool, 
curiously  carved  and  inlaid  with  ivory,  which  mark 
of  distinction  was  neculiar  to  them.  One  of  these 


’Lord  and  Lady. 


36 


I  VAN  HOE 


seats  was  at  present  occupied  by  Cedric  the  Saxon, 
who,  though  but  in  rank  a  thane,  or  as  the  Normans 
called  him,  a  Franklin,  felt,  at  the  delay  of  his  even* 
ing  meal,  an  irrita'ble  impatience,  which  might  have 
become  an  alderman  whether  of  ancient  or  modern 
times. 

It  appeared,  indeed,  from  the  countenance  of  this 
proprietor,  that  he  was  of  a  frank,  but  hasty  and 
choleric  temper.  He  was  not  above  the  middle  stat¬ 
ure,  but  broad-shouldered,  long-armed,  and  power¬ 
fully  made,  like  one  accustomed  to  endure  the  fatigue 
of  war  or  of  the  chase;  his  face  was  broad,  with 
large  blue  eyes,  open  and  frank  features,  fine  teeth, 
and  a  well-formed  head,  altogether  expressive  of 
that  sort  of  good-humor  which  often  lodges  with  a 
sudden  and  hasty  temper.  Pride  and  jealousy 
there  was  in  his  eye,  for  his  life  had  been  spent  in 
asserting  rights  which  were  constantly  liable  to  in¬ 
vasion;  and  the  prompt,  fiery,  and  resolute  disposi¬ 
tion  of  the  man,  had  been  kept  constantly  upon  the 
alert  by  the  circumstances  of  his  situation.  His 
long  yellow  hair  was  equally  divided  on  the  top  of 
his  head  and  upon  his  brow,  and  combed  down  on 
each  sicfd  to  the  length  of  his  shoulders;  it  had  but 
little  tendency  to  gray,  although  Cedric  was  approach¬ 
ing  to  his  sixtieth  year. 

His  dress  was  a  tunic  of  forest  green,  furred  at 
the  throat  and  cuffs  with  what  was  called  minever; 
a  kind  of  fur  inferior  in  quality  to  ermine,  and 
formed,  it  is  believed,  of  the  skin  of  the  gray  squir¬ 
rel.  This  doublet  hung  unbuttoned  over  a  close 
dress  of  scarlet  which  sate  tight  to  his  body ;  he  had 
breeches  of  the  same,  but  they  did  not  reach  below 
the  lower  part  of  the  thigh,  leaving  the  knee  ex- 

Tn  ancient  times  a  military  chief;  later  he  became  a 
ruler  of  a  province. 


IVANHOE 


37 


posed.  His  feet  had  sandals  of  the  same  fashion 
with  the  peasants,  but  of  finer  materials,  and  se¬ 
cured  in  the  front  with  golden  clasps.  He  had  brace¬ 
lets  of  gold  upon  his  arms,  and  a  broad  collar  of  the 
same  precious  metal  around  his  neck.  About  his 
waist  he  wore  a  richly-studded  belt,  in  which  was 
stuck  a  short,  straight,  two-edged  sword,  with  a 
sharp  point,  so  disposed  as  to  hang  almost  perpen¬ 
dicularly  by  his  side.  Behind  his  seat  was  hung  a 
scarlet  cloth  cloak  lined  with  fur,  and  a  cap  of  the 
same  materials  richly  embroidered,  which  completed 
the  dress  of  the  opulent  landholder  when  he  chose 
to  go  forth.  A  short  boar-spear,  with  a  broad  and 
bright  steel  head,  also  reclined  against  the  back 
of  his  chair,  which  served  him,  when  he  walked 
abroad,  for  the  purposes  of  a  staff  or  of  a  weapon,  as 
chance  might  require. 

Several  domestics,  whose  dress  held  various  pro¬ 
portions  betwixt  the  richness  of  their  master’s,  and 
the  coarse  and  simple  attire  of  Gurth  the  swineherd, 
watched  the  looks  and  waited  the  commands  of  the 
Saxon  dignitary.  Two  or  three  servants  of  a  super¬ 
ior  order  stood  behind  their  master  upon  the  dais; 
the  re«t  occupied  the  lower  part  of  the  hall.  Other 
attendants  there  were  of  a  different  description ; 
two  or  three  large  and  'shaggy  greyhounds,  such  as 
were  then  employed  in  hunting  the  stag  and  wolf; 
as  many  slowhounds  of  a  large  bony  breed,  with 
thick  necks,  large  heads,  and  long  ears;  and  one  or 
two  of  the  smaller  dogs,  now  called  terriers,  which 
waited  with  impatience  the  arrival  of  the  supper: 
but,  with  the  sagacious  knowledge  of  physiognomy 
peculiar  to  their  race,  forebore  to  intrude  upon  the 
moody  silence  of  their  master,  apprehensive  probab¬ 
ly  of  a  small  white  truncheon  which  lay  by  Cedric’s 
trencher,  for  the  purpose  of  repelling  the  advances 


Ivan  hoe 


38 

of  his  four-legged  dependents.  One  grisly  old  wolf- 
dog  alone,  witli  the  liberty  of  an  indulged  favorite, 
had  planted  himself  close  by  the  chair  of  state,  and 
occasionally  ventured  to  solicit  notice  by  putting  his 
large,  hairy  head  upon  his  master’s  knee,  or  pushing 
his  nose  into  his  hand.  Even  he  was  repelled  by  the 
stern  command  “Down,  Balder,  down!  I  am  not  m 
the  humor  for  foolery.” 

In  fact,  Cedric,  as  we  have  observed,  was  in  no 
very  placid  state  of  mind.  The  lady  Rowena,  who 
had  been  absent  to  attend  an  evening  mass  at  a 
distant  church,  had  but  just  returned,  and  was 
changing  her  garments,  which  had  been  wetted  by 
the  storm.  There  were  as  yet  no  tidings  of  Gurth 
and  his  charge,  which  should  long  since  have  been 
driven  home  from  the  forest;  and  such  was  the  in¬ 
security  of  the  period,  as  to  render  it  probable  that 
the  delay  might  be  explained  by  some  depredation 
of  the  outlaws,  with  whom  the  adjacent  forest 
abounded,  or  by  the  violence  of  some  neighboring 
baron,  whose  consciousness  of  strength  made  him 
equally  negligent  of  the  laws  of  property.  The  mat¬ 
ter  was  of  consequence,  for  great  part  of  the  domes¬ 
tic  wealth  of  the  Saxon  proprietors  consijted  in 
numerous  herds  of  swine,  especially  in  forest  land, 
where  those  animals  easily  found  their  food. 

Besides  these  subjects  of  anxiety,  the  Saxon  thane 
was  impatient  for  the  presence  of  his  favorite  clown 
Wamba,  whose  jests,  such  as  they  were,  served  for 
a  sort  of  seasoning  to  his  evening  meal,  and  to  the 
deep  draughts  of  ale  and  wine  with  which  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  accompanying  it.  Add  to  all  this, 
Cedric  had  fasted  since  noon,  and  his  usual  supper 
hour  was  long  past,  a  cause  of  irritation  common  to 
country  squires,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times. 
His  displeasure  was  expressed  in  broken  sentences, 


Ivan  hoe 


39 


1  partly  muttered  to  himself,  partly  addressed  to  the 

I  domestics  who  stood  around;  and  particularly  to  his 
cup-bearer,  who  offered  him  from  time  to  time,  as  a 
|  sedative,  a  silver  goblet  filled  with  wine — “Why 
fj  tarries  the  Lady  Rowena?” 

“She  is  but  changing  her  head-gear,”  replied  a 

I  female  attendant,  with  as  much  confidence  as  the 
favorite  lady's  maid  usually  answers  the  master  of 
a  modern  family;  “you  would  not  wish  her  to  sit 
down  to  the  banquet  in  her  hood  and  kirtle?  and  no 
lady  within  the  shire  can  be  quicker  in  arraying  her¬ 
self  than  my  mistress.” 

This  undeniable  argument  produced  a  sort  of  ac¬ 
quiescent  umph!  on  the  part  of  the  Saxon,  with  the 
addition,  “I  wish  her  devotion  may  choose  fair 
weather  for  the  next  visit  to  St.  John’s  Kirk; — but 
what,  in  the  name  of  ten  devils,”  continued  he,  turn¬ 
ing  to  the  cup-bearer,  and  raising  his  voice,  as  if 
happy  to  have  found  a  channel  into  which  he  might 
divert  his  indignation  without  fear  or  control — 
“what,  in  the  name  of  ten  devils,  keeps  Gurth  so 
long  a-field?  I  suppose  we  shall  have  evil  account 
I  of  the  herd;  he  was  wont  to  be  a  faithful  and  cau¬ 
tious  drudge,  and  I  had  destined  him  for  something 
;  better;  perchance  I  might  even  have  made  him  one 
|  of  my  warders.”1 

Oswald  the  cup-bearer  modestly  suggested,  “that 
it  was  scarce  an  hour  'since  the  tolling  of  the  cur- 
i  few;”1  an  ill-chosen  apology,  since  it  turned  upon  a 
i  topic  so  harsh  to  Saxon  ears. 

“The  foul  fiend,”  exlclaimed  Cedric,  ‘Itake  the 
curfew-bell,  and  the  tyrannical  bastard  by  whom  it 
was  devised,  and  the  heartless  slave  who  names  it 
;  '‘The  curfew  was  established  by  William  the  Conqueror 
as  a  means  of  safety  and  as  a  means  of  controlling  the 
Saxons.  All  fires  were  to  be  covered  and  all  lights  out 
at  that  time. 


40 


IVANHOE 


with  a  Saxon  tongue  to  a  Saxon  ear!  The  curfew!” 
he  added,  pausing,  “ay,  the  curfew;  which  compels 
true  men  to  extinguish  their  lights,  that  thieves  and 
robbers  may  work  their  deeds  in  darkness! — Ay,  the 
curfew; — Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf  and  Philip  de 
Malvoisin  know  the  use  of  the  curfew  as  well  as 
William  the  Bastard  himself,  or  e'er  a  Norman  ad¬ 
venturer  that  fought  at  Hastings.  I  shall  hear,  I 
guess,  that  my  property  has  been  swept  off  to  save 
from  starving  the  hungry  banditti,  whom  they  can¬ 
not  support  but  by  theft  and  robbery.  My  faithful 
slave  is  murdered,  and  my  goods  are  taken  for  a 
prey — and  Wamba — where  is  Wamba?  Said  not 
some  one  he  had  gone  forth  with  Gurth?” 

Oswald  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

“Ay?  why  this  is  better  and  better!  he  is  carried 
off  too,  the  Saxon  fool,  to  serve  the  Norman  lord. 
Fools  are  we  all  indeed  that  serve  them,  and  fitter 
subjects  for  their  'scorn  and  laughter,  than  if  we 
were  born  with  but  half  our  wits.  But  I  will  be 
avenged,”  he  added,  starting  from  his  chair  in  im¬ 
patience  at  the  supposed  injury,  and  catching  hold 
of  his  Boar-spear;  “I  will  go  with  my  complaint  to 
the  great  council;1  I  have  friends,  I  have  followers 
—man  to  man  will  I  appeal  the  Norman  to  the  lists; 
let  him  come  in  his  plate  and  his  mail,  and  all  that 
can  render  cowardice  bold;  I  have  sent  such  a  jave¬ 
lin  as  this  through  a  stronger  fence  than  three  of 
their  war  shields !— Haply  they  think  me  old;  but 
they  shall  find,  alone  and  childless  as  I  am,  the 
blood  of  Hereward  is  in  the  veins  of  Cedric.- -Ah, 
Wilfred,  Wilfred!”  he  exclaimed  in  a  lower  tone, 
“couldst  thou  have  ruled  thine  unreasonable  pas¬ 
sion,  thy  father  had  not  been  left  in  his  age  like  the 
■solitary  oak,  that  throws  out  its  shattered  and  un- 

sThe  council  of  State  composed  of  advisers  of  the  king. 


IVANHOE 


41 


protected  branches  against  the  full  sweep  of  the 
tempest!”  The  reflection  seemed  to  conjure  into 
sadness  his  irritated  feelings.  Replacing  his  jave¬ 
lin,  he  resumed  his  seat,  bent  his  looks  downward, 
and  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  melancholy  reflec¬ 
tion. 

From  his  musing,  Cedric  was  suddenly  awakened 
by  the  blast  of  a  horn,  which  was  replied  to  by  the 
clamorous  yells  and  barking  of  all  the  dogs  in  the 
hall,  and  some  twenty  or  thirty  which  were  quar¬ 
tered  in  other  part  of  the  building.  It  cost  some  ex¬ 
ercise  of  the  white  truncheon,  well  seconded  by  the 
exertions  of  the  domestics,  to  silence  this  canine 
clamor. 

“To  the  gate,  knaves!”  said  the  Saxon,  hastily, 
as  soon  as  the  tumult  was  so  much  appeased  that 
the  dependents  could  hear  his  voice.  “See  what  ti¬ 
dings  that  horn  tells  us  of — to  announce,  I  ween, 
some  hership  and  robbery  which  has  been  done  upon 
my  lands.” 

Returning  in  less  than  three  minutes,  a  warder 
announced,  “that  the  Prior  Aymer  of  Jorvaulx.  and 
the  good  knight  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  commander 
of  the  valiant  and  venerable  order  of  Knights  Tern 
plans,  with  a  small  retinue,  requested  hospitality 
and  lodging  for  the  night,  being  on  their  way  to  a 
tournament  which  was  to  be  held  not  far  from 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche,  on  the  second  day  from  the 
present.” 

“Aymer,  the  Prior  Aymer?  Brian  de  Bois-Guil¬ 
bert?” — muttered  Cedric;  “Normans  both; — but 
Norman  or  Saxon,  the  hospitality  of  Rotherwood 
must  not  be  impeached;  they  are  welcome,  since 
they  have  chosen  to  halt — more  welcome  would  they 
have  been  to  have  ridden  further  on  their  way. — • 
But  it  were  unworthy  to  murmur  for  a  night’s  lodg- 


42 


IVANHOE 


ing  and  a  night’s  food;  in  the  quality  of  guests,  at 
least,  even  Normans  must  suppress  their  insolence. 
— Go,  Hundebert,”  he  added,  to  a  sort  of  major- 
domo  who  stood  behind  him  with  a  white  wand; 
"take  six  of  the  attendants,  and  introduce  the 
strangers  to  the  guests’  lodging.  Look  after  their 
horses  and  mules,  and  see  their  train  lack  nothing.  , 
Let  them  have  change  of  vestments  if  they  require 
it,  and  fire,  and  water  to  wash,  and  wine  and  ale;  , 
and  bid  the  cooks  add  what  they  hastily  can  to  our 
evening  meal;  and  let  it  be  put  on  the  board  when 
those  strangers  are  ready  to  share  it.  Say  to  them, 
Hundebert,.  that  Cedric,  would  himself  <b(id  them 
welcome,  but  he  is  under  a  vow  never  to  step  more 
than  three  steps  from  the  dais  of  his  own  hall  to 
meet  any  who  shares  not  the  blood  of  Saxon  royalty. 
Begone!  see  them  carefully  tended;  let  them  not 
say  in  their  pride,  the  Saxon  churl  has  shown  at 
once  his  poverty  and  his  avarice.” 

The  major-domo  departed  with  several  attendants, 
to  execute  his  master’s  commands.  “The  Prior  Ay- 
mer!”  repeated  Cedric,  looking  to  Oswald,  “the 
brother,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  Giles  de  Mauleverer, 
now  lord  of  Middleham?” 

Oswald  made  a  respectful  sign  of  assent.  “His 
brother  sits  in  the  seat,  and  usurps  the  patrimony, 
of  a  better  race,  the  race  of  Ulfgar  of  Middleham; 
but  what  Norman  lord  doth  not  the  same?  This 
Prior  is,  they  say,  a  free  and  jovial  priest,  who 
loves  the  wine-cup  and  the  bugle-horn  be'tter  than 
bell  and  book.1  Good ;  let  him  come,  he  shall  be  wel¬ 
come.  How  named  ye  the  Templar?” 

“Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert.” 

“Bois-Guilbert,”  said  Cedric,  still  in  the  musing, 


xSuggestive  of  the  monastery  and  certainly  more  becom¬ 
ing  to  the  monastic  life  than  wine-cup. 


IVANHOE 


43 


lalf -arguing  tone,  which  the  habit  of  living  among 
dependents  had  accustomed  him  to  employ,  and 
than  to  those  around  him — “Bois-Guilbert?  That 
name  has  been  spread  wide  both  for  good  and  evil. 
They  say  he  is  valiant  as  the  bravest  of  his  order; 
but  stained  with  their  usual  vices — pride,  arrogance, 
cruelty,  and  voluptuousness;  a  hard-hearted  man, 
who  knows  neither  fear  of  earth,  nor  awe  of  heaven. 
So  say  the  few  warriors  who  have  returned  from 
Palestine. — Well,  it  is  but  for  one  night;  he  shall  be 
welcome  too. — Oswald,  broach  the  oldest  wine-cask; 
place  the  best  mead,  the  mightiest  ale,  the  richest 
morat,  the  most  sparkling  cider,  the  most  odorifer¬ 
ous  pigments,  upon  the  board;  fill  the  largest  horns 
— Templars  and  Abbots  love  good  wines  and  good 
measure. — Elgitha,  let  thy  Lady  Rowena  know  we 
shall  not  this  night  expect  her  in  the  hall,  unless 
such  be  her  especial  pleasure.” 

“But  it  will  be  her  especial  pleasure,”  answered 
Elgitha,  with  great  readiness,  “for  she  is  ever  de¬ 
sirous  to  hear  the  latest  news  from  Palestine.” 

Cedric  darted  at  the  forward  damsel  a  glance  of 
hasty  resentment;  but  Rowena,  and  whatever  be¬ 
longed  to  her,  were  privileged  and  secure  from  his 
anger.  He  only  replied,  “Silence,  maiden;  thy 
tongue  outruns  thy  discretion.  Say  my  message  to 
thy  mistress,  and  let  her  do  her  pleasure.  Here,  at 
least,  the  descendant  of  Alfred  still  reigns  a  prin¬ 
cess.”  Elgitha  left  the  apartment. 

“Palestine!”  repeated  the  Saxon;  “Palestine! 
how  many  ears  are  turned  to  the  tales  which  disso¬ 
lute  crusaders,  or  hypocritical  pilgrims,  bring  from 
that  fatal  land!  I  too  might  ask — I  too  might  in¬ 
quire — I  too  might  listen  with  a  beating  heart  to 
faoles  which  the  wily  strollers  devise  to  cheat  us 
into  hospitality — but  no, — the  son  who  has  dis- 


44 


Ivan  hoe 


obeyed  me  is  no  longer  mine;  nor  will  I  concen 
myself  more  for  his  fate  than  for  that  of  the  mos 
worthless  among  the  millions  that  ever  shaped  th> 
cross  on  their  shoulder  rushed  into  excess  an< 
blood-guiltiness,  and  called  it  an  accomplishment  o: 
the  will  of  God.” 

He  knit  his  brows,  and  fixed  his  eyes  for  an  in 
stant  on  the  ground;  as  he  raised  them,  the  folding 
doors  at  the  bottom  of  the  hall  were  cast  wide,  and 
preceded  by  the  major-domo  with  his  wand,  and  fou: 
domestics  bearing  blazing  torches,  the  guests  of  th< 
evening  entered  the  apartment. 


Question:  Why  was  Rowena  interested  in  Palestine? 
Question  :  The  absent  son  of  Cedric  serves  as  the  con¬ 
necting  link  between  what  two  classes  of  people  and  be¬ 
tween  what  elements  in  our  story? 


CHAPTER  IV 


With  sheep  and  shaggy  goats  the  porkers  bled. 

And  the  proud  steer  was  on  the  marble  spread ; 

With  fire  prepared,  they  deal  the  morsels  round, 

Wine  rosy  bright  the  brimming  goblets  crown’d. 

*  *  * 

Disposed  apart,  Ulysses  shares  the  treat ; 

A  trivet  table  and  ignobler  seat, 

The  Prince  assigns- - 

Odyssey ,  Book  21. 

The  Prior  Aymer  had  taken  the  opportunity  af¬ 
forded  him,  of  changing  his  riding  robe  for  one  of 
pet  more  costly  materials,  over  which  he  wore  a 
sope1 2  curiously  embroidered.  Besides  the  massive 
golden  signet  ring,  which  marked  his  ecclesiastical 
dignity,  his  fingers,  though  contrary  to  the  canon," 
were  loaded  with  precious  gems;  his  sandals  were 
of  the  finest  leather  which  was  imported  from 
Spain;  his  beard  trimmed  to  as  small  dimensions  as 
his  order  would  possibly  permit,  and  his  shaven 
crown  concealed  by  a  scarlet  cap  richly  embroidered. 

The  appearance  of  the  Knight  Templar  was  also 
changed ;  and,  though  less  studiously  bedecked  with 
ornament,  his  dress  was  as  rich,  and  his  appearance 
far  more  commanding,  than  that  of  his  companion. 
He  had  exchanged  his  shirt  of  mail  for  an  under 
tunic  of  dark  purple  silk,  garnished  with  furs,  over 
which  flowed  his  long  robe  of  spotless  white,  in  am¬ 
ple  folds.  The  eight-pointed  cross3  of  his  order  was 
cut  on  the  shoulder  of  his  mantle  in  black  velvet. 


aAn  ecclesiatical  cloak,  which  was  more  suitable  for  a 
procession  than  a  dinner  party. 

2Rules  for  the  government  of  a  religious  order. 

3The  emblem  of  the  Knight  Templars.  The  Maltese  cross 
of  red  had  eight  points. 


46 


Ivan  hob 


The  high  cap  no  longer  invested  his  brows,  whicif) 
were  only  shaded  by  short  and  thick  curled  hair  of  a 
raven  blackness,  corresponding  to  his  unusually 
swart  complexion.  Nothing  could  be  more  grace¬ 
fully  majestic  than  his  step  and  manner,  had  they 
not  been  marked  by  a  .predominant  air  of  haughti¬ 
ness,  easily  acquired  by  the  exercise  of  unresisted 
authority. 

These  two  dignified  persons  were  followed  by 
their  respective  attendants,  and  at  a  more  humble 
distance  by  their  guide,  whose  figure  had  nothing 
more  remarkable  than  it  derived  from|  the  usual 
weeds  of  a  pilgrim.  A  cloak  or  mantle  of  coarse 
'black  serge  enveloped  his  whole  body.  It  was  in 
shape  something  like  the  cloak  of  a  modern  hussar, 
having  similar  flaps  for  covering  the  arms,  and  was 
called  a  Sclaveyn,  or  Sclavonian.  Coarse  sandals, 
bound  with  thongs,  on  his  bare  feet;  a  broad  and 
shadowy  hat,  with  cockle-shells1  stitched  on  its  brim, 
and  a  long  staff  shod  with  iron,  to  the  upper  end 
of  which  was  attached  a  branch  of  palm,  completed 
the  Palmer's  attire.  He  followed  modestly  the  last 
of  the  train  which  entered  the  hall,  and,  observing 
that  the  lower  table  scarce  afforded  room  sufficient 
for  the  domestics  of  Cedric  and  the  retinue  of  his 
guests,  he  withdrew  to  a  settle  placed  beside  and  al¬ 
most  under  one  of  the  large  chimneys,  and  seemec 
to  employ  himself  in  drying  his  garments,  until  th€ 
retreat  of  some  one  should  make  room  at  the  board 
or  the  hospitality  of  the  steward  should  supply  hin 
with  refreshments  in  the  place  he  had  chosen  apart 

Cedric  rose  to  receive  his  guests  with  an  air  ol 
dignified  hospitality,  and,  descending  from  the  dais 


*An  emblem  worn  by  Pilgrims  from  Palestine  just  af 
the  palm  branch  was. 


IVANHOE 


47 


or  elevated  part  of  his  hall,  made  three  steps 
;owards~rriem,  and  then  awaited  their  approach. 

,  “I  grieve,”  he  said,  “reverend  Prior,  that  my  vow 
,  jbinds  me  to  advance  no  farther  upon  this  floor  of 
jjmy  fathers,  even  to  receive  such  guests  as  you,  and 
this  valiant  Knight  of  the  Holy  Temple.  But  my 
^steward  has  expounded  to  you  the  cause  of  my  seem¬ 
ing  discourtesy.  Let  me  also  pray,  that  you  will  ex- 
y|cuse  my  speaking  to  you  in  my  native  language,  and 
that  you  will  reply  in  the  same  if  your  knowledge 
of  it  permits;  if  not,  I  sufficiently  understand  Nor- 
iman  to  follow  your  meaning.” 

“Vows,”  said  the  Abbot,  “must  be  unloosed, 
5  worthy  Franklin,  or  permit  me  rather  to  say,  worthy 
r 'Thane,  though  the  title  is  antiquated.  Vows  are  the 
l?  knots  which  tie  us  to  Heaven — they  are  the  cords 
j  which  bind  the  sacrifice  to  the  horns  of  the  altar,1 — 
djand  are  therefore, — as  I  said  before, — to  be  un- 
B  loosened  and  discharged,  unless  our  holy  Mother 
(j! Church  shall  pronounce  the  contrary.  And  respect¬ 
ing  language,  I  willingly  hold  communication  in  that 
,1 1  spoken  by  my  respected  grandmother,  Hilda  of  Mid- 
I  dleham,  who  died  in  odor  of  sanctity,  little  short, 
,1  if  we  may  presume  to  say  so,  of  her  glorious  name¬ 
sake,  the  blessed  Saint  Hilda  of  Whitby,2  God  be 
]! gracious  to  her  soul!” 

1(j  When  the  Prior  had  ceased  what  he  meant  as  a 
ie  conciliatory  harangue,  his  companion  said  briefly 
j  and  emphatically,  “I  speak  ever  French,  the  lan- 
jj  guage  of  King  Richard  and  his  nobles ;  but  I  under- 

1  lrrhe  projection  at  the  four  corners  of  the  Jewish  altar, 
if  See  I  Kings  II,  28,  and  I  Kings  I,  50. 

$,  2 A  famous  Abbess  of  the  convent  at  Whitby  on  the  coast 

'  of  Yorkshire. 

|  Question:  How  does  the  Prior  show  himself  to  be  es- 
l!  pecially  diplomatic? 


48 


Ivan  hoe 


stand  English  sufficiently  to  communicate  with  the 
natives  of  the  country.” 

Cedric  darted  at  the  speaker  one  of  those  hasty 
and  impatient  glances,  which  comparisons  between 
the  two  rival  nations  seldom  failed  to  call  forth, 
but,  recollecting  the  duties  of  hospitality,  he  sup¬ 
pressed  further  show  of  resentment,  and,  motioning 
witli  his  hand,  caused  his  guests  to  assume  two 
seats  a  little  lower  than  his  own,  but  placed  close 
beside  him,  and  gave  a  signal  that  the  evening  meal 
should  be  placed  upon  the  board. 

While  the  attendants  hastened  to  obey  Cedric’s 
commands,  his  eye  distinguished  Gurth  the  swine¬ 
herd,  who,  with  his  companion  Wamba,  had  just 
entered  the  hall.  “Send  these  loitering  knaves  up 
hither,”  said  the  Saxon,  impatiently.  And  when  the  1 
culprits  came  before  the  dais, — “How  comes  it,  vil- 1 
lains!  that  you  have  loitered  abroad  so  late  as  this! 
Hast  thou  brought  home  thy  charge,  sirrah  Gurth, 
or  hast  thou  left  them  to  robbers  and  marauders?” 

“The  herd  is  safe,  so  please  ye,”  said  Gurth. 

“But  it  does  not  please  me,  thou  knave,”  said 
Cedric,  “that  I  should  be  made  to  suppose  other¬ 
wise  for  two  hours,  and  sit  here  devising  vengeance 
against  my  neighbors  for  wrongs  they  have  not  done 
me.  I  tell  thee,  shackles  and  the  prison-house  shall 
punish  the  next  offense  of  this  kind.” 

Gurth,  knowing  his  master’s  irritable  temper,  at¬ 
tempted  no  exculpation;  but  the  Jester,  who  could 
presume  upon  Cedric’s  tolerance,  by  virtue  of  his 
privileges  as  a  fool,  replied  for  them  both,  “In  troth, 
uncle1  Cedric,  you  are  neither  wise  nor  reasonable 
to-night.” 

“How,  sir?”  said  his  master;  “you  shall  to  the 

*A  title  used  by  jesters  in  place  of  “master,”  in  reality 
to  express  mock  familiarity  with  their  masters. 


IVANHOE 


49 


porter’s  lodge,  and  taste  of  the  discipline  there,  if 
you  give  your  foolery  such  license.” 

“First  let  your  wisdom  tell  me,”  said  Wamba, 
“is  it  just  and  reasonable  to  punish  one  person  for 
the  fault  of  another?” 

“Certainly  not,  fool,”  answered  Cedric. 

“Then  why  should  you  shackle  poor  Gurth,  uncle, 
for  the  fault  of  his  dog  Fangs?  for  I  dare  be  sworn 
we  lost  not  a  minute  by  the  way,  when  we  had  got 
our  herd  together,  which  Fangs  did  not  manage  un¬ 
til  we  heard  the  vesper-bell.” 

“Then  hang  up  Fangs,”  said  Cedric,  turning  hast¬ 
ily  towards  the  swineherd,  “if  the  fault  is  his,  and 
get  thee  another  dog.” 

“Under  favor,  uncle,”  said  the  Jester,  “that  were 
still  somewhat  on  the  bow-hand1  of  fair  justice; 
for  it  was  no  fault  of  Fangs  that  he  was  lame  and 
could  not  gather  the  herd,  but  the  fault  of  those  that 
struck  off  two  of  his  foreclaws,  an  operation  for 
which,  if  the  poor  fellow  had  been  consulted,  he 
would  scarce  have  given  his  voice.” 

“And  who  dared  to  lame  an  animal  which  be¬ 
longed  to  my  bondsman?”  said  the  Saxon,  kindling 
in  wrath. 

“Marry,  that  did  old  Hubert,”  said  Wamba,  “Sir 
Philip  de  Malvoisin’s  keeper  of  the  chase.  He 
caught  Fangs  strolling  in  the  forest,  and  said  he 
chased  the  deer  contrary  to  his  master’s  right,  as 
warden  of  the  walk.”2 

“The  foul  fiend  take  Malvoisin,”  answered  the 
Saxon,  “and  his  keeper  both!  I  will  teach  them 
that  the  wood  was  disforested  in  terms  of  the  great 
Forest  Charter.  But  enough  of  this.  Go  to,  knave, 
go  to  thy  place — and  thou,  Gurth,  get  thee  another 

a“Left  hand,”  on  the  wrong  side ;  unjust. 

Guardian  of  the  range. 


50 


Ivan  hoe 


dog,  and  should  the  keeper  dare  to  touch  it,  i 
mar  his  archery;  the  curse  of  a  coward  on  my  heau, 
if  I  strike  not  off  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand ! — 
He  shall  draw  bowstring  no  more. — I  crave  your  par¬ 
don,  my  worthy  guests.  I  am  beset  here  with  neigh¬ 
bors  that  match  your  infidels,  Sir  Knight,  in  Holy 
Land.  But  your  homely  fare  is  before  you;  feed, 
and  let  welcome  make  amends  for  hard  fare.” 

The  feast,  however,  which  was  spread  upon  the 
board,  needed  no  apologies  from  the  lord  of  the  man¬ 
sion.  Swine’s  flesh,  dressed  in  several  modes,  ap¬ 
peared  on  the  lower  part  of  the  board,  as  also  that 
of  fowls,  deer,  goats,  and  hares,  and  various  kinds 
of  fish,  together  with  huge  loaves  and  cakes  of 
breaS,  and  sundry  confections  made  of  fruits  and 
honey.  The  smaller  sorts  of  wild-fowl,  of  which 
there  was  abundance,  were  not  served  up  in  platters, 
but  brought  in  upon  small  wooden  spits  or  broaches, 
and  offered  by  the  pages  and  domestics  who  bore 
them,  to  each  guest  in  succession,  who  cut  from 
them  such  a  portion  as  he  pleased.  Beside  each  per¬ 
son  of  rank  was  placed  a  goblet  of  silver;  the  lower 
board  was  accommodated  with  Targe  drinking  horns. 

When  the  repast  was  about  to  commence,  the 
major-domo,  or  steward,  suddenly  raking  his  wand, 
said  aloud, — “Forbear! — Place  for  the  Lady  Row- 
ena.”  A  side-door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall  now 
opened  behind  the  banquet  table,  and  Rowena,  fol¬ 
lowed  by  four  female  attendants,  entered  the  apart¬ 
ment.  Cedric,  though  surprised,  and  perhaps  not 
altogether  agreeably  so,  at  his  ward  appearing  in 
public  on  this  occasion,  hastened  to  meet  her,  and 
to  conduct  her,  with  respectful  ceremony,  to  the  ele¬ 
vated  seat  at  his  own  right  hand,  appropriated  to 
the  lady  of  the  mansion.  All  stood  up  to  receive 
her;  and,  replying  to  their  courtesy  by  a  mute  ges- 


IVANHOE 


51 


|ture  of  salutation,  she  moved  gracefully  forward  to 
assume  her  place  at  the  board.  Ere  she  had  time 
to  do  so,  the  Templar  whispered  to  the  Prior,  “1 
shall  wear  no  collar  of  gold  of  yours  at  the  tourna¬ 
ment.  The  Chian  wine  is  your  own.” 

“Said  I  not  so?”  answered  the  Prior;  “but  check 
your  raptures,  the  Franklin  observes  you.” 
i  Unheeding  this  remonstrance,  and  accustomed  only 
to  act  upon  the  immediate  impulse  of  his  own 

*  wishes,  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  kept  his  eyes  riveted 
on  the  Saxon  beauty,  more  striking  perhaps  to  his 

c  imagination,  because  differing  widely  from  those 
iof  the  Eastern  sultanas. 

Formed  in  the  best  proportions  of  her  sex,  Row- 
jcna  was  tall  in  stature,  yet  not. so  much  so  as  to 

*  attract  observation  on  account  of  superior  height. 
|Her  complexion  was  exquisitely  fair,  but  the  noble 
feast  of  her  head  and  features  prevented  the  insipid¬ 
ity  which  sometimes  attaches  to  fair  beauties.  Her 
clear  blue  eye,  which  sate  enshrined  beneath  a 
graceful  eyebrow  of  brown  sufficiently  marked  to 
give  expression  to  the  forehead,  seemed  capable  to 
kindle  as  well  as  melt,  to  command  as  well  as  to  be- 

*  seech.  If  mildness  were  the  more  natural  expres¬ 
sion  of  uch  a  combination  of  features,  it  was  plain, 

|  that  in  the  present  instance,  the  exercise  of  habitual 

superiority,  and  the  reception  of  general  homage, 
had  given  to  the  Saxon  lady  a  loftier  character, 
which  mingled  with  and  qualified  that  bestowed  by 
nature.  Her  profuse  hair,  of  a  color  betwixt  brown 
and  flaxen,  was  arranged  in  a  fanciful  and  graceful 
j  manner  in  numerous  ringlets  to  form  which  art  had 
probably  aicTed  nature.  These  locks  were  braided 
with  gems,  and  being  worn  at  full  length,  intimated 


Question  :  What  does  the  Templar  mean  by  the  words 
lie  whispered  to  the  Prior? 


52 


IVANIIOE 


the  noble  birth  and  free-born  condition  of  the  maid¬ 
en.  A  golden  chain,  to  which  was  attached  a  small 
reliquary  of  the  same  metal,  hung  round  her  neck, 
She  wore  bracelets  on  her  arms,  which  were  bare, 
Her  dress  was  an  under-gown  and  kirtle  of  pale  sea- 
green  silk,  over  which  hung  a  long  loose  robe,  which 
reached  to  the  ground,  having  very  wide  sleeves, 
which  came  down,  however,  very  little  below  the  el¬ 
bow.  This  robe  was  crimson,  and  manufactured  out 
of  the  very  ffinest  wool.  A  veil  of  silk,  interwoven 
with  gold,  was  attached  to  the  upper  part  of  it, 
which  could  be,  at  the  wearer’s  pleasure,  either 
drawn  over  the  face  and  bosom  after  the  Spanish 
fashion,  or  disposed  as  a  sort  of  drapery  round  the 
shoulders. 

When  Rowena  perceived  the  Knight  Templar’s 
eyes  bent  on  her  with  an  ardor,  that,  compared  with 
the  dark  caverns  under  which  they  moved,  gave 
them  the  effect  of  lighted  charcoal,  she  drew  with 
dignity  the  veil  around  her  face,  as  an  intimation 
that  the  determined  freedom  of  his  glance  was  dis¬ 
agreeable.  Cedric  -saw  the  motion  and  its  cause. 

Sir  Templar,”  said  he,  “the  cheeks  of  our  Saxon 
maidens  have  seen  too  little  of  the  sun  to  enable 
them  to  bear  the  fixed  glance  of  a  crusader.” 

“If  I  have  offended,  ”  replied  Sir  Brian,  “I  crave 
your  pardon  that  is,  I  crave  the  Lady  Rowena’s 
pardon  for  my  humility  will  carry  me  no  lower.” 

“The  Lady  Rowena,”  said  the  Prior,  “has  pun¬ 
ished  us  all,  in  chastising  the  boldness  of  my  friend. 
Let  me  hope  she  will  be  less  cruel  to  the  splendid 
train  which  are  to  meet  at  the  tournament.” 

“Our  going  thither,”  said  Cedric,  "is  uncertain. 
I  love  not  these  vanities,  which  were  unknown  to 
my  fathers  when  England  was  free.” 

“Let  us  hope,  nevertheless,”  said  the  Prior,  “our 


IVANHOE 


58 


company  may  determine  you  to  travel  thitherward; 
when  the  roads  are  so  unsafe,  the  escort  of  Sir 
Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  is  not  to  be  despised.” 

“Sir  Prior,”  answered  the  Saxion,  “wheresoever 
I  have  traveled  in  this  land,  I  have  hitherto  found 
myself,  with  the  assistance  of  my  good  sword  and 
faithful  followers,  in  no  respect  needful  of  other 
aid.  At  present,  if  we  indeed  journey  to  Ashby-de- 
la-Zouche,  we  do  so  with  my  noble  neighbor  and 
countryman,  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh,1  and  with 
such  a  train  as  would  set  outlaws  and  feudal  ene¬ 
mies  at  defiance. — I  drink  to  you,  Sir  Prior,  in  this 
cup  of  wine,  which  I  trust  your  taste  will  approve, 
and  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy.  Should  you  be 
so  rigid  in  adhering  to  monastic  rule,”  he  added,  “as 
to  prefer  your  acid  preparation  of  milk,  I  hope  you 
will  not  strain  courtesy  to  do  me  reason.” 

“Nay,”  said  the  Priest, -laughing,  “it  is  only  in 
our  abbey  that  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  lac  dulce 2 
or  the  lac  acidum  either.  Conversing  with  the  world, 
we  use  the  world’s  fashion,  and  therefore  I  answer 
your  pledge  in  this  honest  wine,  and  leave  the  weak¬ 
er  liquor' to  my  lay-brother.” 

^Ahd  I,”  said  the  Templar,  filling  his  goblet, 
“drink  wassail3  to  the  fair  Rowena;  for  since  her 
namesake4  introduced  the  word  into  England,  has 
never  been  one  more  worthy  of  such  a  tribute.  By 
my  faith,  I  could  pardon  the  unhappy  Vortigern,  had 
he  half  the  cause  that  we  now  witness,  for  making 
shipwreck  of  his  honor  and  his  kingdom.” 


*A  castle  in  Yorkshire. 

2Sweet  milk,  sour  milk. 

3 (See  Century  dictionary).  From  Wes,  be  and  liael,  whole. 
The  Templar  drinks  to  the  health  of  Rowena. 

4Rowena  was  the  name  of  the  daughter  of  a  Saxon  in¬ 
vader,  Hengist.  She  married  Vortigern,  a  British  king. 


54 


Ivan  hoe 


“I  will  spare  your  courtesy,  Sir  Knight,”  said 
Rowena  with  dignity,  and  without  unveiling  herself ; 
“or  rather  I  will  tax  it  so  far  as  to  require  of  you 
the  latest  news  from  Palestine,  a  theme  more  agree¬ 
able  to  our  English  ears,  than  the  compliments 
which  your  French  breeding  teaches.” 

“I  have  little  of  importance  to  say,  lady,”  an¬ 
swered  Sir  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  “excepting  the 
confirmed  tidings  of  a  truce  with  Saladin.”1 

Ife  was  interrupted  by  Wamba,  who  had  taken  his 
appropriated  seat  upon  a  chair,  the  back  of  which 
was  decorated  with  two  ass’s  ears,  and  which  was 
placed  about  two  steps  behind  that  of  his  master, 
who,  from  time  to  time,  supplied  him  with  victuals 
from  his  own  trencher;  a  favor,  however,  which  the 
Jester  shared  with  the  favorite  dogs,  of  whom,  as 
we  have  already  noticed,  there  were  several  in  at¬ 
tendance.  Here  <sat  Wamba,  with  a  small  table 
before  him,  his  heels  tucked  up  against  the  bar  of 
the  chair,  his  cheeks  sucked  up  so  as  to  make  his 
jaws  resemble  a  pair  of  nut-crackers,  and  his  eyes 
half-shut,  yet  watching  with  alertness  every  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  exercise  his  licensed  foolery. 

“These  truces  with  the  infidels,”  he  exclaimed, 
without,  caring  how  suddenly  he  interrupted  the 
stately  Templar,  “make  an  old  man  of  me!” 

“Go  to,  knace,  how  so?”  said  Cedric,  his  fea¬ 
tures  prepared  to  receive  favorably  the  expected  jest. 

“Because,”  answered  Wamba,  “I  remember  three 
of  them  in  my  day,  each  of  which  was  to  endure  for 
the  course  of  fifty  years;  so  that,  by  computation,  I 
must  be  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old.” 

“I  will  warrant  you  against  dying  of  old  age,  how¬ 
ever,”  said  the  Templar,  who  now  recognized  his 


1  Famous  sultan  of  Egypt  and  Spain  who  fought  the  cru¬ 
saders  successfully  ma»y  yeari. 


IVANHOE 


55 


friend  of  the  forest;  “I  will  assure  you  from  all 
'  deaths  but  a  violent  one,  if  you  give  such  directions 
:  to  wayfarers,  as  you  did  this  night  to  the  Prior  and 
j  me.” 

“How,  sirrah?”  said  Cedric,  “misdirect  travelers? 
We  must  have  you  whipt;  you  are  at  least  as  much 
rogue  as  fool.” 

“I  pray  thee,  uncle,”  answered  the  Jester,  “let 
my  folly  for  once  protect  my  roguery.  I  did  but 
make  a  mistake  between  my  right  hand  and  my  left, 
and  he  might  have  pardoned  a  greater,  who  took  a 
fool  for  his  counselor  and  guide.” 

Conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  en¬ 
trance  of  the  porter’s  page,  who  announced  that 
there  was  a  stranger  at  the  gate,  imploring  admit¬ 
tance  and  hospitality. 

“Admit  him,”  said  Cedric,  “be  he  who  or  what 
he  may; — a  night  like  that  which  roars  without, 
compels  even  wild  animals  to  herd  with  tame,  and  to 
seek  the  protection  of  man.  their  mortal  foe,  rather 
than  perish  by  the  elements.  Let  his  wants  be  minis¬ 
tered  to  with  all  care. — Look  to  it  Oswald.” 

And  the  steward  left  the  banqueting  hall  to  see 
the  commands  of  his  patron  obeyed. 


Question:  Did  the  Templar  suspect  that  Wamba  gave 
him  the  wrong  directions  on  purpose-?.-..-* . ••  —vV 


CHAPTER  V 


Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  Hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  di¬ 
mensions,  senses,  affections,  passions?  Fed  with  the  same 
food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  dis¬ 
eases,  healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the 
same  winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian  is? 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

Oswald,  returning,  whispered  into  the  ear  of  his 
master,  “It  is  a  Jew,  who  calls  himself  Isaac  of 
York;  is  it  fit  I  should  marshal  him  into  the  hall?" 

“Let  Gurth  do  thine  office,  Oswald,"  said  Wamba, 
with  his  usual  effrontery;  “the  swineherd  will  be  a 
fit  usher  to  the  Jew." 

“St.  Mary,"  said  the  Abbot,  crossing  himself,  “an 
unbelieving  Jew,  and  admitted  into  this  presence!" 

“A  dog  Jew,"  echoed  the  Templar,  “to  approach 
8  defender  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher?" 

“By  my  faith,”  said  Wamba,  “it  would  seem  the 
Templars  love  the  Jews'  inheritance  better  than  they 
do  their  company.” 

“Peace,  my  worthy  guests,"  said  Cedric;  “my 
hospitality  must  not  be  bounded  by  your  dislikes.  If 
Heaven  bore  with  the  whole  nation  of  stiff-necked 
unbelievers  for  more  years  than  a  layman  can  num¬ 
ber,  we  may  endure  the  presence  of  one  Jew  for  a 
few  hours.  But  I  constrain  no  man  to  converse  or  to 
feed  with  him. — Let  him  have  a  board  and  a  morsel 
apart, — unless,"  he  said,  smiling,  “these  turban’d 
strangers  will  admit  his  society." 

“Sir  Franklin,”  answered  the  Templar,  “my 
Saracen  slaves  are  true  Moslems,1  and  scorn  as  much 
as  any  Christian  to  hold  intercourse  with  a  Jew." 

‘tNow,  in  faith,"  said  Wamba,  “I  cannot  see  that 


followers  of  Mohammedans. 


IVANHOE 


57 


the  worshipers  of  Mahound  and  Termagaunt1  have 
so  greatly  the  advantage  over  the  people  once 
chosen  of  Heaven.” 

“He  shall  sit  with  thee,  Wamba,”  said  Cedric; 
“the  fool  and  the  knave  will  be  well  met.” 

“The  fool,”  answered  Wamba,  raising  the  relics 
of  a  gammon  of  bacon,  “will  take  care  to  erect  a 
bulwark  against  the  knave.” 

“Hush,”  said  Cedric,  “for  here  he  comes.” 

Introduced  with  little  ceremony,  and  advancing 
with  fear  and  hesitation,  and  many  a  bow  of  deep 
humility,  a  tall,  thin  old  man,  who,  however,  had  lost 
by  the  habit  of  stooping  much  of  his  actual  height, 
approached  the  lower  end  of  the  board.  His  fea¬ 
tures,  keen  and  regular,  with  an  aquiline  nose,  and 
piercing  black  eyes;  his  high  and  wrinkled  forehead, 
and  long  gray  hair  and  beard,  would  have  been  con¬ 
sidered  as  handsome,  had  they  not  be'eh  the  marks  of 
a  physiognomy  peculiar  to  a  race,  which,  during 
those  dark  ages,  was  alike  detested  by  the  credulous 
and  prejudiced  vulgar,  and  persecuted  by  the  greedy 
and  rapacious  nobility,  and  who,  perhaps  owing  to 
that  very  hatred  and  persecution,  had  adopted  a  na¬ 
tional  character,  in  which  there  was  much,  to  say 
the  least,  mean  and  unamiable. 

The  Jew’s  dress,  which  appeared  to  have  suffered 
considerably  from  the  storm,  was  a  plain  russet 
cloak  of  many  folds,  covering  a  dark  purple  tunic. 
He  had  large  boots  lined  with  fur,  and  a  belt  around 
his  waist,  which  sustained  a  small  knife,  together 
with  a  case  for  writing  materials,  but  no  weapons. 
He  wore  a  high  square  yellow  cap  of  a  peculiar 
fashion,  assigned  to  his  nation  to  distinguish  them 


‘Supposed' to  have  been  a  god  worshipped  by  the  Moham¬ 
medans. 


58 


[VANHOC 


from  Christians,  and  which  he  doffed  with  great 
humility  at  the  door  of  the  hall. 

The  reception  of  this  person  in  the  hall  of  Cedric 
the  Saxon,  was  such  as  might  have  satisfied  the  most 
prejudiced  enemy  of  the  tribes  of  Israel.  Cedric 
himself  coldly  nodded  in  answer  to  the  Jew’s  repeat¬ 
ed  salutations,  and  signed  to  him  to  take  place  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  table,  where,  however,  no  one 
offered  to  make  room  for  him.  On  the  contrary,  as 
he  passed  along  the  file,  casting  a  timid  supplicating 
glance,  and  turning  towards  each  of  those  who  oc-  j 
cupied  the  lower  end  of  the  board,  the  Saxon  domes¬ 
tics  squared  their  shoulders,  and  continued  to  de¬ 
vour  their  supper  with  great  perseverance,  paying 
not  the  least  attention  to  the  wants  of  the  new 
guest.  The  attendants  of  the  Abbot  crossed  them¬ 
selves,  with  looks  of  pious  horror,  and  the  very 
heathen  Saracens,  as  Isaac  drew  near  them,  curled 
up  their  whiskers  with  indignation,  and  laid  their 
hands  on  their  poniards,  as  if  ready  to  rid  them¬ 
selves  by  the  most  desperate  means  from  the  ap¬ 
prehended  contamination  of  his  nearer  approach. 

Probably  the  same  motives  which  induced  Cedric 
to  open  his  hall  to  this  son  of  a  rejected  people, 
would  have  made  him  insist  on  his  attendants  re¬ 
ceiving  Isaac  with  more  courtesy.  But  the  Abbot 
had,  at  this  moment,  engaged  him  in  a  most  inter¬ 
esting  discussion  on  the  breed  and  character  of  his 
favorite  hounds,  which  he  would  not  have  inter¬ 
rupted  for  matters  of  much  greater  importance  than 
that  of  a  Jew  going  to  bed  supperless.  While  Isaac 
thus  stood  an  outcast  in  the  present  society,  like  his 
people  among  the  nations,  looking  in  vain  for  wel¬ 
come  or  resting  place,  the  Pilgrim  who  sat  by  the 

Question  :  Why  did  Isaac  wear  a  cap  different  from 
that  of  anyone  else? 


IVANHOE 


59 


chimney  took  compassion  upon  him,  and  resigned 
his  seat,  saying  briefly,  “Old  man,  my  garments  are 
|  dried,  my  hunger  is  appeased;  thou  art  both  wet 
and  fasting.”  So  saying,  he  gathered  together,  and 
brought  to  a  flame,  the  decaying  brands  which  lay 
scattered  on  the  ample  hearth ;  took  from  the  larger 
board  a  mess  of  pottage  and  seethed  kid,  placed  it 
upon  the  small  table  at  which  he  had  himself 
supped,  and,  without  waiting  the  Jew’s  thanks,  went 
to  the  other  side  of  the  hall ;  whether  from  unwill¬ 
ingness  to  hold  more  close  communication  with  the 
object  of  his  benevolence,  or  from  a  wish  to  draw 
near  to  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  seemed  uncertain. 

Had  there  been  painters  in  those  days  capable  to 
execute  such  a  subject,  the  Jew,  as  he  bent  his 
|  withered  form,  and  expanded  his  chilled  and  trem¬ 
bling  hands  over  the  fire,  would  have  formed  no  bad 
emblematical  personification  of  the  Winter  season. 
Having  dispelled  the  cold,  he  turned  eagerly  to  the 
smoking  mess  which  was  placed  before  him,  and  ate 
with  a  haste  and  an  apparent  relish,  that  seemed  to 
betoken  long  abstinence  from  food. 

Meanwhile  the  Abbot  and  Cedric  continued  their 
discourse  upon  hunting;  the  Lady  Rowena  seemed 
engaged  in  conversation  with  one  of  her  attendant 
females;  and  the  haughty  Templar,;  whose  eyes 
seemed  to  wander  from  the  Jew  to  the  Saxon  beauty, 
revolved  in  his  mind  thoughts  which  appeared  deep¬ 
ly  to  interest  him. 

“I  marvel,  worthy  Cedric,”  said  the  Abbot,  as 
their  discourse  proceeded,  “that,  great  as  your  predi¬ 
lection  is  for  your  own  manly  language,  you  do 
not  receive  the  Norman-French  into  your  favor,  so 
far  at  least  as  the  mystery  of  wood-craft  and  hunt¬ 
ing  is  concerned.  Surely  no  tongue  is  so  rich  in  the 
various  phrases  which  the  field-sports  demand,  or 


60 


Ivan  hoe 


furnishes  means  to  the  experienced  woodman  so 
well  to  express  his  jovial  art.” 

“Good  Father  Aymer,”  said  the  Saxon,  “be  it 
known  to  you,  I  care  not  for  those  over-sea  refine¬ 
ments,  without  which  I  can  well  enough  take  my 
pleasure  in  the  woods.  I  can  wind  my  horn,  though 
I  call  not  the  blast  either  a  recheate1  or  a  morte 2 — 
I  can  cheer  my  dogs  on  the  prey,  and  I  can  flay  and 
quarter  the  animal  when  it  is  brought  down,  with¬ 
out  using  the  new-fangled  jargon  of  curee,3  arbor,4 
nombles,5  and  all  the  babble  of  the  fabulous  Sir 
Tristrem.” 

“The  French,”  said  the  Templar,  raising  his  voice 
with  the  presumptuous  and  authoritative  tone  which 
he  used  upon  all  occasions,  “is  not  only  the  natural 
language  of  the  chase,6  but  that  of  love  and  of 
war,  in  which  ladies  should  be  won  and  enemies 
defied.” 

“Pledge  me  in  a  cup  of  wine,  Sir  Templar,”  said 
Cedric,  “and  fill  another  to  the  Abbot,  while  I  look 

"Recall. 

2Call  at  the  death  of  a  stag. 

3Portion  given  the  dogs. 

4The  vitals. 

5Entrails. 

6“There  was  no  language  which  the  Normans  more  for¬ 
mally  separated  from  that  of  common  life  than  the  terms 
of  the  chase.  The  objects  of  their  pursuit,  whether  bird 
or  animal,  changed  their  names  each  year,  and  there  were 
a  hundred  conventional  terms,  to  be  ignorant  of  which 
was  to  be  without  one  of  the  distinguishing  marks  of  a 
gentleman.  The  reader  may  consult  Dame  Juliana  Ber¬ 
ner’s  book  on  the  subject.  The  origin  of  this  science  was 
imputed  to  the  celebrated  Sir  Tristam,  famous  for  his 
tragic  intrigue  with  the  beautiful  Ysolte.  As  the  Normans 
reserved  the  amusement  of  hunting  strictly  to  themselves, 
the  terms  of  this  formal  jargon  were  all  taken  from  the 
French  language.”  (Scott’s  Note.) 


IVANHOE 


61 


back  some  thirty  years  to  tell  you  another  tale.  As 
Cedric  the  Saxon  then  was,  his  plain  English  tale 
needed  no  garnish  from  French  troubadours,  when 
it  was  told  in  the  -ear  of  beauty;  and  the  field  of 
Northallerton,1  upon  the  day  of  the  Holy  Standard, 
could  tell  whether  the  Saxon  war-cry  was  not  heard 
as  far  within  the  ranks  of  the  Scottish  host  as  the 
cri  de  guerre 2  of  the  boldest  Norman  baron.  To  the 
memory  of  the  brave  who  fought  there! — Pledge 
me,  my  guests.”  He  drank  deep,  and  went  on  with 
increasing  warmth.  “Ay,  that  was  a  day  of  cleav¬ 
ing  of  shields,  when  a  hundred  banners  were  bent 
forward  over  the  heads  of  the  valiant,  and  blood 
flowed  round  like  water,  and  death  was  held  better 
than  flight.  A  Saxon  bard  had  called  it  a  feast  of 
the  swords — a  gathering  of  the  eagles  to  the  prey — 
the  clashing  of  bills  upon  shield  and  helmet,  the 
shouting  of  battle  more  joyful  than  the  clamor  of  a 
bridal.  But  our  bards  are  no  more,”  he  said;  “our 
deeds  are  lost  in  those  of  another  race, — our  lan¬ 
guage — our  very  name — is  hastening  to  decay,  and 
none  mourns  for  it  save  one  solitary  old  man. — Cup¬ 
bearer!  knave,  fill  the  goblets — To  the  strong  in 
arms,  Sir  Templar,  be  their  race  or  language  what 
it  will,  who  now  bear  them  best  in  Palestine  among 
the  champions  of  the  Cross!” 

“It  becomes  not  one  wearing  this  badge  to  an¬ 
swer,”  said  Sir  Brian  de  !Bois-Guilbert ;  “yet  to 
whom,  besides  the  sworn  Champions  of  the  Holy 
Sepulcher,  can  the  palm  be  assigned  among  the 
champions  of  the  Cross.” 


^own  twenty  miles  north  of  York  where  famous  Battle 
of  Standard  was  fought.  The  English  barons  defeated 
Scotch  invaders. 

2War-cry. 


62 


Ivan  hoe 


“To  the  Knights  Hospitallers,”1  said  the  Abbot; 
“I  have  a  brother  of  their  order.” 

“I  impeach  not  their  fame,”  said  the  Templar; 
“nevertheless - ” 

“I  think,  friend  Cedric,”  said  Wamba,  interfer¬ 
ing,  “that  had  Richard  of  the  Lion’s  Heart  been 
wise  enough  to  have  taken  a  fool’s  advice,  he  might 
have  staid  at  home  with  his  merry  Englishmen,  and 
left  the  recovery  of  Jerusalem  to  those  same  knights 
who  had  most  to  do  with  the  loss  of  it.” 

“Were  there,  then,  none  in  the  English  army,” 
said  the  Lady  Rowena,  “whose  names  are  worthy  to 
be  mentioned  with  the  Knights  of  the  Temple,  and 
of  St.  John?” 

“Forgive  me,  lady,”  replied  De  Bois-Guilbert ; 
“the  English  monarch  did,  indeed,  bring  to  Pales¬ 
tine  a  host  of  gallant  warriors,  second  only  to  those 
whose  breasts  have  been  the  unceasing  bulwark  of 
that  blessed  land.” 

“Second  to  NONE,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  who  ,ha^ 
stood  near  enough  to  hear,  and  had  listened  to  this 
conversation  with  marked  impatience.  All  turned 
towards  the  spot  from  whence  this  unexpected  as¬ 
severation  was  heard.  “I  say,”  repeated  the  Pilgrim 
in  a  firm  and  strong  voice,  “that  the  English  chiv¬ 
alry  were  second  to  none  who  ever  drew  sword  in 
defense  of  the  Holy  Land.  I  say  besides,  for  I  saw 
it,  that  King  Richard  himself,  and  five  of  his  knights, 
held  a  tournament  after  the  taking  of  St.  John-de- 
Acre,2  as  challengers  against  all  comers.  I  say  that, 
on  that  day,  each  knight  ran  three  courses,  and  cast 
to  the  ground  three  antagonists.  I  add,  that  seven 


’Body  of  military  monks,  first  formed  among  monks  of 
Hospital  of  St.  John  at  Jerusalem. 

2Acre,  sea  port  in  Palestine  which  Richard  helped  to  cap¬ 
ture. 


IVANHOE 


63 


of  these  assailants  were  Knights  of  the  Temple — 
and  Sir  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  well  knows  the  truth 
of  what  I  tell  you.” 

It  is  impossible  for  language  to  describe  the  bitter 
j  scowl  of  rage  which  rendered  yet  darker  the 
jswarthy  countenance  of  the  Templar.  In  the  ex¬ 
tremity  of  his  resentment  and  confusion,  his  quiver¬ 
ing  fingers  griped  towards  the  handle  of  his  sword, 
and  perhaps  only  withdrew,  from  the  consciousness 
that  no  act  of  violence  could  be  safely  executed  in 
that  place  and  presence.  Cedric,  whose  feelings 
were  all  of  a  right  onward  and  simple  kind,  and  were 
seldom  occupied  by  more  than  one  object  at  once, 
omitted,  in  the  joyous  glee  with  which  he  heard  of 
the  glory  of  his  countrymen,  to  remark  the  angry 
I  confusion  of  his  guest.  “I  would  give  thee  this 
golden  bracelet,  Pilgrim,”  he  said,  “couldst  thou 
tell  me  the  names  of  those  knights  who  upheld  so 
gallantly  the  renown  of  merry  England.” 

“That  will  I  do  blithely,”  replied  the  Pilgrim, 
.“and  without  guerdon;  my  oath,  for  a  time,  pro¬ 
hibits  me  from  touching  gold.” 

“I  will  wear  the  bracelet  for  you,  if  you  will, 
friend  Palmer,”  said  Wamba. 

“The  first  in  honor  as  in  arms,  in  renown  as  in 
place,”  said  the  Pilgram,  “was  the  brave  Richard, 
King  of  England.” 

“I  forgive  him,”  said  Cedric;  “I  forgive  him  his 
descent  from  the  tyrant  Duke  William.”1 

“The  Earl  of  Leicester  was  the  second,”  con¬ 
tinued  the  Pilgrim;  “Sir  Thomas  Multon  of  Gilsland 
was  the  third.” 

“Of  Saxon  descent,  he  at  least,”  said  Cedric  with 
exultation. 


William  the  Conqueror,  1066. 


64 


IVANHOE 


“Sir  Foulk  Doilly  the  fourth,”  proceeded  the 
Pilgrim. 

“Saxon  also,  at  least  by  the  mother’s  side,”  con¬ 
tinued  Cedric,  who  listened  with  the  utmost  eager¬ 
ness,  and  forgot,  in  part  at  least,  his  hatred  to  the 
Normans  in  the  common  triumph  of  the  King  of  Eng¬ 
land  and  his  islanders.  “And  who  was  the  fifth?” 
he  demanded. 

“The  fifth  was  Sir  Edwin  Turneham.” 

“Genuine  Saxon,  by  the  soul  of  Hengist!”1  shouted 
Cedric.  “And  the  sixth?”  he  continued  with  eager¬ 
ness — “how  name  you  the  sixth?” 

“The  sixth,”  said  the  Palmer,  after  a  pause,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  recollect  himself,  “was  a  young 
knight  of  lesser  renown  and  lower  rank,  assumed 
into  that  honorable  company,  less  to  aid  their  en¬ 
terprise  than  to  make  up  their  number; — his  name 
dwells  not  in  my  memory.” 

“Sir  Palmer,”  said  Sir  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert 
scornfully,  “this  assumed  forgetfulness,  after  so 
much  has  been  remembered,  comes  too  late  to  serve 
your  purpose.  I  will  myself  tell  the  name  of  the 
knight  before  whose  lance  fortune  and  my  horse’s 
fault  occasioned  my  falling — it  was  the  Knight  of 
Ivanhoe;  nor  was  there  one  of  the  six  that,  for  his 
years,  had  more  renown  in  arms. — Yet  this  will  I 
say,  and  loudly — that  were  he  in  England,  and  durst 
repeat,  in  this  week’s  tournament,  the  challenge  of 
St.  John-de-Acre,  I,  mounted  and  armed  as  I  now 
am,  would  give  him  every  advantage  in  weapons,  and 
abide  the  result.” 

“Your  challenge  would  be  soon  answered,”  re¬ 
plied  the  Palmer,  “were  your  antagonist  near  you. 
As  the  matter  is,  disturb  not  the  peaceful  hall  with 
vaunts  of  the  issue  of  the  conflict,  which  you  well 


’One  of  the  first  Saxons  to  invade  England. 


IVANHOE 


65 


know  cannot  take  place.  If  Ivanhoe  ever  returns 
i  from  Palestine,  I  will  be  his  surety  that  he  meets 
;  you.” 

“A  goodly  security!”  said  the  Knight  Templar; 
j  “and  what  do  your  proffer  as  a  pledge?” 

“This  reliquary,”  said  the  Palmer,  taking  a  small 
ivory  box  from  his  bosom,  and  crossing  himself, 
“containing  a  portion  of  the  true  cross,  brought 
from  the  Monastery  of  Mount  Carmel. 

The  Prior  of  Jorvaulx  crossed  himself  and  re¬ 
peated  a  paternoster,  in  which  all  devoutly  joined, 

,  excepting  the  Jew,  the  Mahommedans,  and  the  Tem¬ 
plar;  the  latter  of  whom,  without  vailing  his  bonnet,1 
or  testifying  any  reverence  for  the  alleged  sanctity 
of  the  relic,  took  from  his  neck  a  gold  chain,  which 
he  flung  on  the  board,  saying — “Let  Prior  Aymer 
!  hold  my  pledge  and  that  of  this  nameless  vagrant,  in 
token  that  when  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe  comes  with¬ 
in  the  four  seas  of  Britain,  he  underlies  the  chal¬ 
lenge  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  which,  if  he  answer 
not,  I  will  proclaim  him  as  a  coward  on  the  walls  of 
every  Temple  Court2  in  Europe.” 

“It  will  not  need,”  said  the  Lady  Rowena,  break¬ 
ing  silence;  “my  voice  shall  be  heard,  if  no  other  in 
this  hall  is  raised  in  behalf  of  the  absent  Ivanhoe.  I 
affirm  he  will  meet  fairly  every  honorable  challenge. 
Could  my  weak  warrant  add  security  to  the  inesti¬ 
mable  pledge  of  this  holy  pilgrim,  I  would  pledge 
name  and  fame  that  Ivanhoe  gives  this  proud  knight 
the  meeting  he  desires.” 

A  crowd  of  conflicting  emotions  seemed  to  have 

taking  off  his  cap. 

2The  Knight  Templars  had  temples  or  monasteries  in 
several  countries. 

Question  :  Out  of  this  quarrel,  what  part  of.  the  plot 
is  Scott  advancing? 


66 


IVANIIOE 


occupied  Cedric,  and  kept  him  silent  during  this  dis¬ 
cussion.  Gratified  pride,  resentment,  embarrass¬ 
ment,  chased  each  other  over  his  broad  and  open 
brow,  like  the  shadow  of  clouds  drifting  over  a  har¬ 
vest-field;  while  his  attendants,  on  whom  the  name 
of  the  sixth  knight  seemed  to  produce  an  effect  al¬ 
most  electrical,  hung  in  suspense  upon  their  mas¬ 
ter’s  looks.  But  when  Rowena  spoke,  the  sound  of 
her  voice  seemed  to  startle  him  from  his  silence. 

“Lady,”  said  Cedric,  “this  beseems  not;  were  fur¬ 
ther  pledge  necessary,  I  myself,  offended,  and  justly 
offended,  as  I  am,  would  yet  gage  my  honor  for  the 
honor  of  Ivanhoe.  But  the  wager  of  battle  is  com¬ 
plete,  even  according  to  the  fantastic  fashions  of 
(N'orman  chivalry. — Is  it  not,  Father  Aymer?” 

“It  is,”  replied  the  Prior;  “and  the  blessed  relic 
and  rich  chain  will  I  bestow  safely  in  the  treasury  of 
our  convent,  until  the  decision  of  this  warlike  chal- 
lence.” 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  crossed  himself  again  and 
again,  and  after  many  genuflections  and  muttered 
prayers,  he  delivered  the  reliquary  to  Brother  Am¬ 
brose,  his  attendant  monk,  while  he  himself  swept 
up  with  less  ceremony,  but  perhaps  with  no  less 
internal  sati:faction,  the  golden  chain,  and  bestowed 
it  in  a  pouch  lined  with  perfumed  leather,  which 
opened  under  his  arm.  “And  now,  Sir  Cedric,”  he 
said,  “my  ears  are  chiming  vespers  with  the 
strength  of  your  good  wine — permit  us  another 
pledge  to  the  welfare  of  the  Lady  Rowena,  and  in¬ 
dulge  us  with  liberty  to  pass  to  our  repose.” 

“By  the  rood  of  Bromholme,”  said  the  Saxon, 
“you  do  but  small  credit  to  your  fame,  Sir  Prior! 
Report  speaks  you  a  bonny  monk,  that  would  hear 


Question  :  What  plot  of  the  story  is  Rowena’s  loyal 
support  of  Ivanhoe  advancing? 


IVANHOE 


67 


the  matin  chime  ere  he  quitted  his  bowl ;  and,  old  as 
I  am,  I  feared  to  have  shame  in  encountering  you. 
But,  by  my  faith,  a  Saxon  boy  of  twelve,  in  my  time, 
iwould  not  so  soon  have  relinquished  his  goblet/’ 

The  Prior  had  his  own  reasons,  however,  for  per¬ 
severing  in  the  course  of  temperance  which  he  had 
adopted.  He  was  not  only  a  professional  peacemak¬ 
er,  but  from  practice  a  hater  of  all  feuds  and  brawls. 

It  was  not  altogether  from  a  love  to  his  neighbor, 

;  or  to  himself,  or  from  a  mixture  of  both.  On  the 
present  occasion,  he  had  an  instinctive  apprehension 
iof  the  fiery  temper  of  the  Saxon,  and  saw  the  dan¬ 
ger  that  the  reckless  and  presumptuous  spirit,  of 
which  his  companion  had  already  given  so  many 
proofs,  might  at  length  produce  some  disagreeable 
explosion. 

He  therefore  gently  insinuated  the  incapacity  of 
the  native  of  any  other  country  to  engage  in  the 
genial  conflict  of  the  bowl  with  the  hardy  and  strong¬ 
headed  Saxons;  something  he  mentioned,  but  slight¬ 
ly,  about  his  own  holy  character,  and  ended  by  press¬ 
ing  his  proposal  to  depart  to  repose. 

The  grace-cup1  was  accordingly  served  round,  and 
the  guests,  after  making  deep  obeisance  to  their 
landlord  and  to  the  Lady  Rowena,  arose  and  mingled 
in  the  hall,  while  the  heads  of  the  family,  by  separ¬ 
ate  doors,  retired  with  their  attendants. 

“Unbelieving  dog,”  said  the  Templar  to  Isaac  the 
Jew,  as  he  passed  him  in  the  throng,  “dost  thou 
bend  thy  course  to  the  tournament?” 

“I  do  so  propose,”  replied  Isaac,  bowing  in  all 
humility,  “if  it  pleases  your  reverend  valor.” 

“Ay,”  said  the  Knight,  “to  gnaw  the  bowels  of 
our  nobles  with  usury,  and  to  gull  women  and  boys 

JThe  cup  of  wine  was  passed  from  person  to  person  after 
grace  was  said, 


68 


IVANIIOE 


with  guards  and  toys. — I  warrant  thee  store  of  shek 
els  in  thy  Jewish  scrip.” 

“Not  a  shekel,1  not  a  silver  penny,  not  a  halfling- 
so  held  me  the  God  of  Abraham!”  said  the  Jew 
clasping  his  hands;  “I  go  but  to  seek  the  assistance 
of  some  brethren  of  my  tribe  to  aid  me  to  pay  the 
fine  which  the  Exchequer2  of  the  Jews  have  imposee 
upon  me — Father  Jacob  be  my  speed.  I  am  an  im 
poverished  wretch — the  very  gaberdine  I  wear  is  bor 
rowed  from  Reuben  of  Tadeaster.” 

The  Templar  smiled  sourly  a&  he  replied,  “Be1 
shrew  thee  for  a  false-hearted  liar!”  and  passing 
onward,  as  if  disdaining  further  conference,  he  com 
muned  with  his  Moslem  slaves  in  a  language  un! 
known  to  the  bystanders.  The  poor  Israelite  seemei 
so  staggered  by  the  address  of  the  military  monk 
that  the  Templar  had  passed  on  to  the  extremity  o 
the  hall  ere  he  raised  his  head  from  the  humbl 
posture  which  he  had  assumed,  so  far  as  to  be  sen; 
sible  of  his  departure.  And  when  he  did  loo1 
around,  it  was  with  the  astonished  air  of  one  a 
who^e  feet  a  thunderbolt  has  just  burst,  and  wh 
hears  still  the  astounding  report  ringing  in  his  ears 

The  Templar  and  Prior  were  shortly  after  mar 
shaled  to  their  sleeping  apartments  by  the  stewar 
and  the  cup-bearer,  each  attended  by  two  tore! 
bearers  and  two  servants  carrying  refreshments 
while  servants  of  inferior  condition  indicated  t 
their  retmue  and  to  the  other  guests  their  respectiv 
places  of  repose. 


lA  Jewish  coin  which  varied  in  value  from  sixty  cent 
(silver)  to  about  five  dollars  (gold). 

2“In  those  days  the  Jews  were  subjected  to  an  Excheque 
especially  dedicated  to  that  purpose,  and  wrhich  laid  the] 
under  the  most  exorbitant  impositions.”  L.  T.  (Scott 
note.) 


CHAPTER  VI 


To  buy  his  favor  I  extend  this  friendship : 

If  he  will  take  it,  so ;  if  not,  adieu ; 

And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you  wrong  me  not. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 


i-  As  the  Palmer,  lighted  by  a  domestic  with  a 
r-orch,  passed  through  the  intricate  combination  of 
ipartments  of  this  large  and  irregular  mansion,  the 
;:up-bearer  coming  behind  him  whispered  in  his  ear, 
phat  if  he  had  no  objection  to  a  cup  of  good  mead 
i  n  his  apartment,  there  were  many  domestics  in  that 
family  who  would  gladly  hear  the  news  he  had 
brought  from  the  Holy  Land,  and  particularly  that 
vhich  concerned  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe.  Wamba 
presently  appeared  to  urge  the  same  request,  ob¬ 
serving  that  a  cup  after  midnight  was  worth  three 
pfter  curfew.  Without  disputing  a  maxim  urged 
by  such  grave  authority,  the  Palmer  thanked  them 
:or  their  courtesy,  but  observed  that  he  had  includ¬ 
ed  in  his  religious  vow,  an  obligation  never  to  speak 
n  the  kitchen  on  matters  which  were  prohibited  in 
;he  hall.  “That  vow/’  said  Wamba  to  the  cup¬ 
bearer,  “would  scarce  suit  a  serving-man.” 
i  The  cup-bearer  shrugged  up  his  shoulders  in  dis¬ 
pleasure.  “I  thought  to  have  lodged  him  in  the 
solere  chamber,”  said  he;  “but  since  he  is  so  un¬ 
social  to  Christians,  e’en  let  him  take  the  next  stall 
;o  Isaac  the  Jew’s. — Anwold,”  said  he  to  the  torch- 
bearer,  “carry  the  Pilgrim  to  the  southern  cell. — I 
?ive  you  good-night,”  he  added,  “Sir  Palmer,  with 
small  thanks  for  short  courtesy.” 

“Good-night,  and  Our  Lady’s  benison!”  said  the 
Palmer,  with  composure;  and  his  guide  moved  for¬ 
ward. 

In  a  small  antechamber,  into  which  several  doors 


70 


XV4NH0E 


opened,  and  which  was  lighted  by  a  small  iron  lamp, 
they  met  a  second  interruption  from  the  waiting- 
maid  of  Rowena,  who,  saying  in  a  tone  of  authority, 
that  her  mistress  desired  to  speak  with  the  Palmer, 
took  the  torch  from  the  hand  of  Anwold,  and,  bidding 
him  await  her  return,  made  a  sign  to  the  Palmer  to 
follow.  Apparently  he  did  not  think  it  proper  to 
decline  this  invitation  as  he  had  done  the  former; 
for,  though  his  gesture  indicated  some  suprise  at 
the  summons,  he  obeyed  it  mithout  answer  or  remon¬ 
strance. 

A  short  passage,  and  an  ascent  of  seven  steps,  each 
of  which  was  composed  of  a  solid  beam  of  oak,  led 
him  to  the  apartment  of  the  Lady  Rowena,  the  rude 
magnificence  of  which  corresponded  to  the  respect 
which  was  paid  to  her  by  the  lord  of  the  mansion. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  embroidered  hangings, 
on  which  different-colored  silkfs,  interwoven  with 
gold  and  silver  threads,  had  been  employed  with  ah 
the  art  of  which  the  age  was  capable,  to  represenl 
the  sports  of  hunting  and  hawking.  The  bed  was 
adorned  with  the  same  rich  tapestry,  and  surroundec 
with  curtains  dyed  with  purple.  The  seats  had  alsc 
their  stained  coverings,  and  one,  which  was  highei 
than  the  rest,  was  accommodated  with  a  footstool  of 
ivory,  curiously  carved. 

No  fewer  than  four  silver  candelabras,  holding 
great  waxen  torches,  served  to  illuminate  this  apart 
ment.  Yet  let  not  modern  beauty  envy  the  magnif 
icence  of  a  Saxon  princess.  The  walls  of  the  apart 
ment  were  so  ill  finished  and  so  full  of  crevices,  tha 
the  rich  hangings  shook  to  the  night  blast,  and,  ii 
despite  of  a  sort  of  screen  intended  to  protect  then 
from  the  wind,  the  flame  of  the  torches  streame< 
sideways  into  the  air,  like  the  unfurled  pennon  of  j 
chieftain.  Magnificence  there  was,  with  some  rud< 


IVANHOE 


71 


attempt  at  taste ;  but  of  comfort  there  was  little,  and, 
being  unknown,  it  was  unmissed. 

The  Lady  Rowena,  with  three  of  her  attendants 
standing  at  her  back,  and  arranging  her  hair  ere  she 
lay  down  to  rest,  was  seated  in  the  sort  of  throne 
already  mentioned,  and  looked  as  if  born  to  exact 
general  homage.  The  Pilgrim/ acknowledged  her 
claim  to  it  by  a  low  genuflection. 

“Rise,  Palmer,”  said  she  graciously.  “The  de¬ 
fender  of  the  absent  has  a  right  to  favorable  recep¬ 
tion  from  all  who  value  truth,  and  honor  manhood.” 
She  then  said  to  her  train,  “Retire,  excepting  only 
Eigitha;  I  would  speak  with  this  holy  Pilgrim.” 

The  maidens,  without  leaving  the  apartment,  re¬ 
tired  to  its  further  extremity,  and  sat  down  on  a 
small  bench  against  the  wall,  where  they  remained 
mute  as  statues,  though  at  such  a  distance  that  their 
whispers  could  not  have  interrupted  the  conversa¬ 
tion  of  their  mistress. 

“Pilgrim,”  said  the  lady,  after  a  moment’s  paus^, 
during  which  she  seemed  uncertain  how  to  address 
him,  “you  this  night  mentioned  a  name--I  mean,” 
she  said,  with  a  degree  of  effort,  “the  name  of  Ivan¬ 
hoe,  in  the  halls  where  by  nature  and  kindred  it 
should  have  sounded  most  acceptably;  and  yet,  such 
is  the  perverse  course  of  fate,  that  of  many  whose 
hearts  must  have  throbbed  at  the  sound,  I,  only, 
dare  ask  you  where,  and  in  what  condition,  you  left 
him  of  whom  you  spoke. — We  heard  that,  having 
remained  in  Palestine,  on  account  of  his  impaired 
health,  after  the  departure  of  the  English  army,  he 
had  experienced  the  persecution  of  the  French  fac¬ 
tion,  to  whom  the  Templars  are  known  to  be  at¬ 
tached.” 

“I  know  little  of  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe,”  answered 
the  Palmer,  with  a  troubled  voice.  I  would  I  knew 


72 


Ivan  hoe 


him  better,  since  you,  lady,  are  interested  in  his  fate. 
He  hath,  I  believe,  surmounted  the  persecution  of  his 
enemies  in  Palestine,  and  is  on  the  eve  of  returning 
to  England,  where  you,  lady,  must  know  better  than 
I,  what  is  his  chance  of  happiness.’' 

The  Lady  Rowena  sighed  deeply,  and  asked  more 
particularly  when  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe  might  be 
expected  in  his  native  country,  and  whether  he  would 
not  be  exposed  to  great  dangers  by  the  road.  On  the 
first  point,  the  Palmer  professed  ignorance;  on  the 
second,  he  said  that  the  voyage  might  be  safely  made 
by  the  way  of  Venice  and  Genoa,  and  from  thence 
through  France  to  England.  “Ivanhoe,”  he  said, 
“was  so  well  acquainted  with  the  language  and  man¬ 
ners  of  the  French,  that  there  was  no  fear  of  his  in¬ 
curring  any  hazard  during  that  part  of  his  travels.” 

“Would  to  God,”  said  the  Lady  Rowena.  “he  were 
here  safely  arrived,  and  able  to  bear  arms  in  the 
approaching  tourney,  in  which  the  chivalry  of  this 
land  are  expected  to  display  their  address  and  valor. 
Should  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh  obtain  the  prize, 
Ivanhoe  is  like  to  hear  evil  tidings  when  he  reaches 
England. — How  looked  he,  stranger,  when  you  last 
saw  him?  Had  disease  laid  her  hand  heavy  upon  his 
strength  and  comeliness?” 

“He  was  darker,”  said  the  Palmer,  “and  thinner, 
than  when  he  came  from  Cyprus1  in  the  train  of 
Cceur-de-Lion,  and  care  seemed  to  sit  heavy  on  his 
brow;  but  I  approached  not  his  presence,  because  he 
is  unknown  to  me.” 

“He  will,”  said  the  lady,  “I  fear,  find  little  in  his 
native  land  to  clear  those  clouds  from  his  counten¬ 
ance.  Thanks,  good  Pilgrim,  for  your  information 
concerning  the  companion  of  my  childhood. — Maid- 
ens,”  she  said,  “draw  near — offer  the  sleeping  cup  to 


’Conquered  by  Richard  on  his  way  to  Palestine. 


IVANHOE 


73 


this  holy  man,  whom  I  will  no  longer  detain  from 
repose.” 

One  of  the  maidens  presented  a  silver  cup,  con¬ 
taining  a  rich  mixture  of  wine  and  spice,  which 
Rowena  barely  put  to  her  lips.  It  was  then  offered 
to  the  Palmer,  who  after  a  low  obeisance,  tasted  a 
few  drops. 

“Accept  this  alms,  friend,”  continued  the  lady, 
offering  a  piece  of  gold,  “in  acknowledgment  of  thy 
painful  travail,  and  of  the  shrines  thou  hast  visited/’ 

The  Palmer  received  the  boon  with  another  low 
reverence,  and  followed  Elgitha  out  of  the  apartment. 

in  the  anteroom  he  found  his  attendant  Anwold, 
who,  taking  the  torch  from  the  hand  of  the  waiting- 
maid,  conducted  him  wTith  more  haste  than  ceremony 
to  an  exterior  and  ignoble  part  of  the  building,  where 
a  number  of  small  apartments,  or  rather  cells,  served 
for  sleeping  places  to  the  lower  order  of  domestics, 
and  to  strangers  of  mean  degree. 

“In  which  of  these  sleeps  the  Jew?”  said  the 
Pilgrim. 

“The  unbelieving  dog,”  answered  Anwold,  “kennels 
in  the  cell  next  your  holiness. — St.  Dunstan,  how  it 
must  be  scraped  and  cleansed  ere  it  be  again  fit  for 
a  Christian!” 

“And  where  sleeps  Gurth  the  swineherd?”  said 
the  stranger. 

“Gurth,”  replied  the  bondsman,  “sleeps  in  the  cell 
on  your  right,  as  the  Jew  on  that  to  your  left;  you 
serve  to  keep  the  child  of  cicumcision  separate  from 
the  abomination  of  his  tribe.  You  might  have 
occupied  a  more  honorable  place  had  you  accepted 
of  Oswald's  invitation.” 

“It  is  as  well  as  it  is,”  said  the  Palmer;  “the  com¬ 
pany,  even  of  a  Jew,  can  hardly  spread  contamina¬ 
tion  through  an  oaken  partition.” 


74 


IVANHOE 


So  saying,  he  entered  the  cabin  allotted  to  him, 
ana\taking  the  torch  from  the  domestic’s  hand, 
thanked  him  and  wished  him  good-night.  Having  shut 
the  door  of  his  cell,  he  placed  the  torch  in  a  candle¬ 
stick  made  of  wood,  and  looked  around  his  sleeping 
apartment,  the  furniture  of  which  was  of  the  most 
simple  kind.  It  consisted  of  a  rude  wooden  stool,  and  , 
still  ruder  hutch  or  bed-frame,  stuffed  with  clean 
straw,  and  accommodated  with  two  or  three  sheep¬ 
skins  by  way  of  fred-clothes. 

The  Palmer,  having  extinguished  his  torch,  threw  ; 
himself,  without  taking  oif  any  part  of  his  clothes, 
on  this  rude  couch,  and  slept,  or  at  least  retained 
his  recumbent  posture,  till  the  earliest  sunbeams 
found  their  way  through  the  little  grated  window, 
which  served  at  once  to  admit  both  air  and  light  to 
his  uncomfortable  cell.  He  then  started  up,  and 
after  repeating  his  matins,  and  adjusting  his  dress, 
he  left  it,  and  entered  that  of  Isaac  the  Jew,  lifting 
the  latch  as  gently  as  he  could. 

The  inmate  was  lying  in  troubled  slumber  upon  a 
couch  similar  to  that  on  which  the  Palmer  himself 
had  passed  the  night.  Such  parts  of  his  dress  as  the 
Jew  had  laid  aside  on  the  preceding  evening,  were 
disposed  carefully  around  his  person,  as  if  to  pre¬ 
vent  the  hazard  of  their  being  carried  off  during  his 
slumbers.  There  was  a  trouble  on  his  brow  amount¬ 
ing  almost  to  agony.  His  hands  and  arms  moved 
convulsively,  as  if  struggling  with  the  nightmare: 
and  besides  several  ejaculations  in  Hebrew,  the  fol¬ 
lowing  were  distinctly  heard  in  the  Norman  English, 
or  mixed  language  of  the  country:  “For  the  sake 
of  the  God  of  Abraham,  spare  an  unhappy  old  man! 

I  am  poor,  I  am  penniless — should  your  irons 
wrench  my  limbs  asunder,  I  could  not  gratify  you!” 

The  Palmer  awaited  not  the  end  of  the  Jew’s 


IVANHOE 


75 


vision,  but  stirred  him  with  his  pilgrim’s  staff.  The 
touch  probably  associated,  as  is  usual,  with  some  of 
the  apprehensions  excited  by  his  dream;  for  the  old 
man  started  up,  his  gray  hair  standing  almost  erect 
upon  his  head,  and,  huddling  some  part  of  his  gar¬ 
ments  about  him,  while  he  held  the  detached  pieces 
with  the  tenacious  grasp  of  a  falcon,  he  fixed  upon 
the  Palmer  his  keen  black  eyes,  expressive  of  wild 
surprise  and.  of  bodily  apprehension. 

“Fear  nothing  from  me,  Isaac,”  said  the  Palmer; 
“I  come  as  your  friend.” 

“The  God  of  Israel  requite  you,”  said  the  Jew, 
greatly  relieved:  “I  dreamed — But  Father  Abraham 
be  praised,  it  was  but  a  dream.”  Then,  collecting 
himself,  he  added  in  his  usual  tone,  “And  what  may 
it  be  your  pleasure  to  want  at  so  early  an  hour  with 
the  poor  Jew?” 

“It  is  to  tell  you,”  said  the  Palmer,  “that  if  you 
leave  not  this  mansion  instantly,  and  travel  not 
with  some  haste,  your  journey  may  prove  a  danger¬ 
ous  one.” 

“Holy  father!”  said  the  Jew,  “whom  could  it  in¬ 
terest  to  endanger  so  poor  a  wretch  as  I  am?” 

“The  purpose  you  can  best  guess,”  said  the  Pil¬ 
grim;  “but  rely  on  this,  that  when  the  Templar 
crossed  the  hall  yesternight,  he  spoke  to  his  Mus¬ 
sulman  slaves  in  the  Saracen  language,  which  I 
well  understand,  and  charged  them  this  morning  to 
watch  the  journey  of  the  Jew,  to  seize  upon  him 
when  at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  mansion, 
and  to  conduct  him  to  the  castle  of  Philip  de  Mal- 
voisin,  or  to  that  of  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf.” 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  extremity  of 
terror  which  seized  upon  the  Jew  at  this  informa¬ 
tion,  and  seemed  at  once  to  overpower  his  whole 
faculties.  His  arms  fell  down  to  his  sides,  and  his 


76 


IVANHOE 


head  drooped  on  his  breast,  his  knees  bent  under 
his  weight,  every  nerve  and  muscle  of  his  frame 
seemed  to  collapse  and  lose  its  energy,  and  he  sunk 
at  the  foot  of  the  Palmer,  not  in  the  fashion  of  one 
who  intentionally  stoops,  kneels,  or  prostrates  him¬ 
self  to  excite  compassion,  but  like  a  man  borne 
down  on  all  sides  by  the  pressure  of  some  invisible 
force,  which  crushes  him  to  the  earth  without  the 
power  of  resistance. 

“Holy  God  of  Abraham!”  was  his  first  exclama¬ 
tion,  folding  and  elevating  his  wrinkled  hands,  but 
without  raising  his  gray  head  from  the  pavement; 
“0  holy  Moses!  0  blessed  Aaron!  the  dream  is  not 
dreamed  for  naught,  and  the  vision  cometh  not  in 
vain !  I  feel  their  irons  already  tear  my  sinews !  I 
feel  the  rack  pass  over  my  body  like  the  saws,  and 
harrows,  and  axes  of  iron  over  the  men  of  Rabbah,1 
and  of  the  cities  of  the  children  of  Ammon!” 

“Stand  up,  Isaac,  and  hearken  to  me,”  said  the 
Palmer,  who  viewed  the  extremity  of  his  distress 
with  a  compassion  in  which  contempt  was  largely 
mingled;  “you  have  cause  for  your  terror,  consider¬ 
ing  how  your  brethren  have  been  used,  in  order  to 
extort  from  them  their  hoards,  both  by  princes  and 
nobles,  but  stand  up,  I  say,  and  I  will  point  out  to 
you  the  means  of  escape.  Leave  this  mansion  in¬ 
stantly,  while  its  inmates  sleep  sound,  after  the  last 
night’s  revel.  I  will  guide  you  by  the  secret  paths 
of  the  forest,  known  as  well  to  me  as  to  any  for¬ 
ester  that  ranges  it,  and  I  will  not  leave  you  till 
you  are  under  safe  conduct  of  some  chief  or  baron 
going  to  the  tournament,  whose  good-will  you  will 
have  probably  the  means  of  securing.” 

As  the  ears  of  Isaac  received  the  hopes  of  escape 


*11  Samuel  XII,  29,  31 ;  I  Chronicles  XX,  3. 


IVANHOE 


77 


which  this  speech  intimated,  he  began  gradually, 
and  inch  by  inch,  as  it  were,  to  raise  himself  up 

Ifrom  the  ground,  until  he  fairly  rested  upon  his 
knees,  throwing  back  his  long  gray  hair  and  beard, 
and  fixing  his  keen  black  eyes  upon  the  Palmer’s 
face,  with  a  look  expressive  at  once  of  hope  and 
fear,  not  unmingled  with  suspicion.  But  when  he 
heard  the  concluding  part  of  the  sentence,  his  or¬ 
iginal  terror  appeared  to  revive  in  full  force,  and 
he  dropt  once  more  on  his  face,  exclaiming,  “I 
j  possess  the  means  of  securing  good-will!  alas! 
I  there  is  but  one  road  to  the  favor  of  a  Christian, 
and  how  can  the  poor  Jew  find  it,  whom  extortions 
have  already  reduced  to  the  misery  of  Lazarus?”1 
Then,  as  if  suspicion  had  overpowered  his  other 
feelings,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  “For  the  love  of 
God,  young  man,  betray  me  not — for  the  sake  of 
the  Great  Father  who  made  us  all,  Jew  as  well  as 
Gentile,  Israelite,  and  Ishmaelite2 — do  me  no  treas¬ 
on!  I  have  not  means  to  secure  the  good-will  of  a 
Christian  beggar,  were  he  rating  it  at  a  single 
penny.”  As  he  spoke  these  last  words,  he  raised 
himself,  and  grasped  the  Palmer’s  mantle  with  a 
look  of  the  most  earnest  entreaty.  The  Pilgrim  ex¬ 
tricated  himself,  as  if  there  were  contamination  in 
the  touch. 

“Wert  thou  loaded  with  all  the  wealth  of  thy 
tribe,”  he  said,  “what  interest  have  I  to  injure 
thee? — In  this  dress  I  am  vowed  to  poverty,  nor  do 
I  change  it  for  aught  save  a  horse  and  a  coat  of 
mail.  Yet  think  not  that  I  care  for  thy  company, 
or  propose  myself  advantage  by  it;  remain  here  if 

^uke  XVI.  19-31.  Parable  of  the  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 
Children  of  the  son  of  Hagar  and  Abraham  who  were 
treated  as  outcasts  by  the  children  of  Israel,  perhaps  here 

in  the  sense  of  Gentile. 


78 


IVANHOE 


thou  wilt — Cedric  the  Saxon  may  protect  thee.” 

“Alas!”  said  the  Jew,  “he  will  not  let  me  travel 
in  his  train — Saxon  or  Norman  will  be  equally 
ashamed  of  the  poor  Israelite,  and  to  travel  by  my¬ 
self  through  the  domains  of  Philip  de  Malvoisin 
and  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf — Good  youth,  I  will 
go  with  you! — Let  us  haste — let  us  gird  up  our 
loins — let  us  flee! — Here  is  thy  staff,  why  wilt  thou 
tarry?” 

“I  tarry  not,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  giving  way  to  the 
urgency  of  his  companion;  “but  I  must  secure  the 
means  of  leaving  this  place — follow  me.” 

He  led  the  way  to  the  adjoining  cell,  which,  as 
the  reader  is  apprised,  was  occupied  by  Gurth  the 
swineherd — “Arise,  Gurth,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  “arise 
quickly.  Undo  the  postern  gate,  and  let  out  the  Jew 
and  me.” 

Gurth,  whose  occupation,  though  now  held  so 
mean,  gave  him  as  much  consequence  in  Saxon 
England  as  that  of  Eumaeus  in  Ithaca,1  was  of¬ 
fended  by  the  familiar  and  commanding  tone  as¬ 
sumed  by  the  Palmer.  “The  Jew  leaving  Rother- 
wood,”  said  he,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  and 
looking  superciliously  at  him  without  quitting  his 
pallet,  “and  traveling  in  company  with  the  Palmer 
to  boot - ” 

“I  should  as  soon  have  dreamt,”  said  Wamba, 
who  entered  the  apartment  at  the  instant,  “of  his 
stealing  away  with  a  gammon  of  bacon.” 

“Nevertheless,”  said  Gurth,  again  laying  down 
his  head  on  the  wooden  log  which  served  him  for 
a  pillow,  “both  Jew  and  Gentile  must  be  content  to 
abide  the  opening  of  the  great  gate — we  suffer  no 

Swineherd  in  Ithaca,  the  home  of  Ulysses. 

Question  :  Does  the  Palmer  have  any  motive  in  being 
kind  to  the  Jew? 


IVANHOE 


79 


visitors  to  depart  by  stealth  at  these  unseasonable 
hours.” 

“Nevertheless,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  in  a  command¬ 
ing  tone,  “you  will  not,  I  think,  refuse  me  that 
favor.” 

So  saying,  he  stooped  over  the  bed  of  the  recum¬ 
bent  swineherd,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear 
;  in  Saxon.  Gurth  started  up  as  if  electrified.  The 
jPirgrim,  raising  his  finger  in  an  attempt  as  if 
express  caution,  added,  “Gurth,  beware — thou  art 
wont  to  be  prudent.  I  say,  undo  the  postern — thou 
shalt  know  more  anon.” 

With  hasty  alacrity  Gurth  obeyed  him,  while 
Wamba  and  the  Jew  followed,  both  wondering  at 
the  sudden  change  in  the  swineherd’s  demeanor. 

“My  mule,  my  mule!”  said  the  Jew,  as  soon  as 
!  they  stood  without  the  postern. 

“Fetch  him  his  mule,”  said  the  Pilgrim;  “and, 
hearest  thou, — let  me  have  another,  that  I  may  bear 
him  company  till  he  is  beyond  these  parts — I  will 
return  it  safely  to  some  of  Cedric’s  train  at  Ashby. 
And  do  thou” — he  whispered  the  rest  in  Gurth’s 
ear. 

“Willingly,  most  willingly  shall  it  be  done,”  said 
Gurth,  and  instantly  departed  to  execute  the  com¬ 
mission. 

“I  wish  I  knew,”  said  Wamba,  when  his  com¬ 
rade’s  back  was  turned,  “what  you  Palmers  learn 
in  the  Holy  Land.” 

“To  say  our  orisons,  fool,”  answered  the  Pil¬ 
grim,  “to  repent  our  sins,  and  to  mortify  ourselves 
with  fastings,  vigils,  and  long  prayers.” 

“Something  more  potent  than  that,”  answered 
the  Jester,  “for  when  would  repentance  or  prayer 

Question  t  What  did  the  Palmer  whisper  in  Gurth’s 

ear? 


80 


IVANHOE 


make  Gurth  do  a  courtesy,  or  fasting  or  vigil  per¬ 
suade  him  to  lend  you  a  mule? — I  trow  you  might 
as  well  have  told  his  favorite  black  boar  of  thy 
vigils  and  penance,  and  wouldst  have  gotten  as 
civil  an  answer.” 

“Go  to,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  “thou  art  but  a  Saxon 
fool.” 

“Thou  sayest  well,”  said  the  Jester;  “had  I  been 
born  a  Norman,  as  I  think  thou  art,  I  would  have 
had  luck  on  my  side,  and  been  next  door  to  a  wise 
man.” 

At  this  moment  Gurth  appeared  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  moat  with  the  mules.  The  travelers 
crossed  the  ditch  upon  a  drawbridge  of  only  two 
planks’  breadth,  the  narrowness  of  which  was 
matched  with  the  straitness  of  the  postern,  and 
with  a  little  wicket  in  the  exterior  palisade,  which 
gave  access  to  the  forest.  No  sooner  had  they 
reached  the  mules,  than  the  Jew,  with  hasty  and 
trembling  hands,  secured  behind  the  saddle  a  small 
bag  of  blue  buckram,  which  he  took  from  under  his 
cloak,  containing,  as  he  muttered,  “a  change  of 
raiment — only  a  change  of  raiment.”  Then  get¬ 
ting  upon  the  animal  with  more  alacrity  and  haste 
than  could  have  been  anticipated  from  his  years, 
he  lost  no  time  in  so  disposing  of  the  skirts  of 
his  gaberdine  as  to  conceal  completely  from  ob¬ 
servation  the  burden  which  he  had  thus  deposited 
en  croupe.1 

The  Pilgrim  mounted  with  more  deliberation, 
reaching,  as  he  departed,  his  hand  to  Gurth,  wh|0 
kissed  it  with  the  utmost  possible  veneration.  The 
swineherd  stood  gazing  after  the  travelers  until 
they  were  lost  under  the  boughs  of  the  forest  path, 


Behind  the  saddla 


IVANHOE 


81 


!  when  he  was  disturbed  from  his  reverie  by  the  voice 
of  Wamba. 

“Knowest  thou,”  said  the  Jester,  “my  good 
friend  Gurth,  that  thou  art  strangely  courteous 
land  most  unwontedly  pious  on  this  summer  morn¬ 
ing?  I  would  I  were  a  black  Prior  or  a  barefoot 
Palmer,  to  avail  myself  of  thy  unwonted  zeal  and 
courtesy — certes,  I  would  make  more  out  of  it  than 
a  kiss  of  the  hand.” 

“Thou  art  no  fool  thus  far,  Wamba,”  answered 
Gurth,  “though  thou  arguest  from  appearances,  and 
the  wisest  of  us  can  do  no  more. — But  it  is  time  to 
look  after  my  charge.” 

So  saying,  he  turned  back  to  the  mansion,  at¬ 
tended  by  the  Jester. 

Meanwhile  the  travelers  continued  to  press  on 
their  journey  with  a  dispatch  which  argued  the 
axtremity  of  the  Jew’s  fears,  since  persons  at  his 
age  are  seldom  fond  of  rapid  motion.  The  Palmer, 
to  whom  every  path  and  outlet  in  the  wood  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  familiar,  led  the  way  through  the 
most  devious  paths,  and  more  than  once  excited 
anew  the  suspicion  of  the  Israelite,  that  he  intended 
to  betray  him  into  some  ambuscade  of  his  enemies. 

His  doubts  might  have  been  indeed  pardoned; 
for,  except  perhaps  the  flying  fish,  there  was  no 
race  existing  on  the  earth,  in  the  air,  or  the  waters, 
who  were  the  objects  of  such  an  unintermitting, 
general,  and  relentless  persecution  as  the  Jews  of 
this  period.  Upon  the  slightest  and  most  unreason¬ 
able  pretenses,  as  well  as  upon  accusations  the 
most  absurd  and  groundless,  their  persons  and 
property  were  exposed  to  every  turn  of  popular 
fury;  for  Norman,  Saxon,  Dane,  and  Briton,  how- 

Question  :  Had  Isaac  been  telling  the  truth  about  not 

having  any  money? 


Ivan  hoe 


ever  adverse  these  races  were  to  each  other,  con¬ 
tended  which  should  look  with  greatest  detestation 
upon  a  people,  whom  it  was  accounted  a  point  of 
religion  to  hate,  to  revile,  to  despise,  to  plunder, 
and  to  persecute.  The  kings  of  the  Norman  race, 
and  the  independent  nobles,  who  followed  their  ex¬ 
ample  in  all  acts  of  tyranny,  maintained  against 
this  devoted  people  a  persecution  of  a  more  regu¬ 
lar,  calculated,  and  self-interested  kind.  It  is  a 
well-known  story  of  King  John,  that  he  confined  a 
wealthy  Jew  in  one  of  the  royal  castles,  and  daily 
caused  one  of  his  teeth  to  be  torn  out,  until,  when 
the  jaw  of  the  unhappy  Israelite  was  half  disfurnished, 
he  consented  to  pay  a  large  sum,  which  it 
was  the  tyrant’s  object  to  extort  from  him.  The 
little  ready  money  which  was  in  the  country  was 
chiefly  in  possession  of  this  persecuted  people,  and 
the  nobility  hesitated  not  to  follow  the  example  of 
their  sovereign,  in  wringing  it  from  them  by  every 
species  of  oppression,  and  even  personal  torture. 
Yet  the  passive  courage  inspired  by  the  love  of 
gain,  induced  the  Jews  to  dare  the  various  evils  to 
which  they  were  subjected,  in  consideration  of  the 
immense  profits  which  they  were  enabled  to  realize 
in  a  country  naturally  so  wealthy  as  England.  In 
spite  of  every  kind  of  discouragement,  and  even  of 
the  special  court  of  taxations  already  mentioned, 
called  the  Jews’  Exchequer,  erected  for  the  very 
purpose  of  despoiling  and  distressing  them,  the 
Jews  increased,  multiplied,  and  accumulated  huge 
sums,  which  they  transferred  from  one  hand  to  an¬ 
other  by  means  of  bills  of  exchange1— an  invention 
for  which  commerce  is  said  to  be  indebted  to  them, 
and  which  enabled  them  to  transfer  their  wealth 

'These  were  orders,  generally  in  duplicate,  ordering  peo¬ 


ple  in  distant  parts  to  pay  money. 


Ivan  hoe 


83 


from  land  to  land,  that,  when  threatened  with  op¬ 
pression  in  one  country,  their  treasure  might  be 
secured  in  another. 

The  obstinacy  and  avarice  of  the  Jews  being  thus 
in  a  measure  placed  in  opposition  to  the  fanati¬ 
cism  and  tyranny  of  those  under  whom  they  lived, 
seemed  to  increase  in  proportion  to  the  persecution 
with  which  they  were  visited;  and  the  immense 
wealth  they  usually  acquired  in  commerce,  while  it 
frequently  placed  them  in  danger,  was  at  other 
|  times  used  to  extend  their  influence,  and  to  secure 
to  them  a  certain  degree  of  protection.  On  these 
j  terms  they  lived;  and  their  character,  influenced 
1  accordingly,  was  watchful,  suspicious,  and  timid — 

!  yet  obstinate,  uncomplying,  and  skillful  in  evading 
the  dangers  to  which  they  were  exposed. 

When  the  travelers  had  pushed  on  at  a  rapid  rate 
through  many  devious  paths,  the  Palmer  at  length 
broke  silence. 

“That  large,  decayed  oak,”  he  said,  “marks  the 
boundaries  over  which  Front-de-Boeuf  claims  au¬ 
thority — we  are  long  since  far  from  those  of  Mai- 
voisin.  There  is  now  no  fear  of  pursuit.” 

“May  the  wTheels  of  their  chariots  be  taken  off,” 
said  the  Jew,  “like  those  of  the  host  of  Pharoah,’ 
that  they  may  drive  heavily.  But  leave  me  not, 
good  Pilgrim.  Think  but  of  that  fierce  and  savage 
Templar,  with  his  Saracen  slaves — they  will  regard 
neither  territory,  nor  manor,  nor  lordship.” 

“Our  road,”  said  the  Palmer,  “should  here  separ¬ 
ate  !  for  it  beseems  not  men  of  my  character  and 
thine  to  travel  together  longer  than  needs  must  be. 
Besides,  what  succor  couldst  thou  have  from  me,  a 
peaceful  Pilgrim,  against  two  armed  heathens?” 


3 Exodus  XIV,  25. 


IVANIIOE 


84  • 

“0  good  youth,”  answered  the  Jew,  “thou  canst 
defend  me,  and  I  know  thou  wouldst.  Poor  as  I 
am,  I  will  requite  it — not  with  money,  for  money, 
so  help  me,  my  Father  Abraham,  I  have  none — 
but—” 

“Money  and  recompense,”  said  the  Palmer,  in¬ 
terrupting  him,  “I  have  already  said  I  require  not 
of  thee.  Guide  thee  I  can,  and  it  may  be,  even  in 
some  sort  defend  thee;  since  to  protect  a  Jew 
against  a  Saracen,  can  scarce  be  accounted  un¬ 
worthy  of  a  Christian.  Therefore,  Jew,  I  will  see 
thee  safe  under  some  fitting  escort.  We  are  now 
not  far  from  the  town  of  Sheffield,  where  thou 
mayest  easily  find  many  of  thy  tribe  with  wThom 
to  take  refuge.” 

“The  blessing  of  Jacob  be  upon  thee,  good 
youth!”  said  the  Jew;  “in  Sheffield  I  can  harbor 
with  my  kinsman  Zareth,  and  find  some  means  of 
traveling  forth  with  safety.” 

“Be  it  so,”  said  the  Palmer;  “at  Sheffield  then 
we  part,  and  half-an-hour’s  riding  will  bring  us  in 
sight  of  that  town.” 

The  half  hour  was  spent  in  perfect  silence  on 
both  parts;  the  Pilgrim  perhaps  disdaining  to  ad¬ 
dress  the  Jew,  except  in  case  of  absolute  neces¬ 
sity,  and  the  Jew  not  presuming  to  force  a  con¬ 
versation  with  a  person  whose  journey  to  the  Holy 
Sepulcher  gave  a  sort  of  sanctity  to  his  character. 
They  paused  on  the  top  of  a  gently  rising  bank,  and 
the  Pilgrim,  pointing  to  the  town  of  Sheffield,  which 
lay  beneath  them,  repeated  the  words,  “Here,  then, 
we  part.” 

“Not  till  you  have  had  the  poor  Jew’s  thanks,” 
said  Isaac;  “for  I  presume  not  to  ask  you  to  go 
with  me  to  my  kinsman  Zareth’s,  who  might  aid 
me  with  some  means  of  repaying  your  good  offices/' 


IVANHOE 


85 


“I  have  already  said,”  answered  the  Pilgrim, 
“that  I  desire  no  recompense.  If,  among  the  huge 
list  of  thy  debtors,  thou  wilt,  for  my  sake,  spare 
the  gyves  and  the  dungeon  to  some  unhappy 
Christian  who  stands  in  thy  danger,1  I  shall  hold 
this  morning’s  service  to  thee  well  bestowed.” 

“Stay,  stay,”  said  the  Jew,  laying  hold  of  his 
garment;  “something  would  I  do  more  than  this, 
something  for  thyself. — God  knows  the  Jew  is  poor 
— yes,  Isaac  is  the  beggar  of  his  tribe — but  forgive 
me  should  I  guess  what  thou  most  lacl^est  at  this 
moment.” 

“If  thou  wert  to  guess  truly,”  said  the  Palmer, 
“it  is  what  thou  canst  not  supply,  wert  thou  as 
wealthy  as  thou  sayeth  thou  art  poor.” 

“As  I  say?”  echoed  the  Jew;  “0!  believe  it,  I 
say  but  the  truth ;  I  am  a  plundered,  indebted,  dis¬ 
tressed  man.  Hard  hands  have  wrung  from  me  my 
goods,  my  money,  my  ships,  and  all  that  I  pos¬ 
sessed.  — Yet  I  can  tell  thee  what  thou  lackest, 
and,  it  may  be,  supply  it  too.  Thy  wish  even  now 
is  for  a  horse  and  armor.” 

The  Palmer  started,  and  turned  suddenly  towards 
the  Jew. — “What  fiend  prompted  that  guess?”  said 
he,  hastily. 

“No  matter,”  said  the  Jew,  smiling,  “so  that  it 
be  a  true  one — and,  as  I  can  guess  thy  want,  so  I 
can  supply  it.” 

“But  consider,”  said  the  Palmer,  “my  character, 
my  dress,  my  vow.” 

“I  know  you  Christians,”  replied  the  Jew,  “and 
that  the  noblest  of  you  will  take  the  staff  and  sand¬ 
al  in  superstitious  penance,  and  walk  afoot  to  visit 
the  graves  of  dead  men.” 


Tn  thy  power. 


86 


IVANHOE 


“Blaspheme  not,  Jew,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  sternly. 

“Forgive  me,”  said  the  Jew;  “I  spoke  rashly. 
But  there  dropt  words  from  you  last  night  and  this 
morning,  that,  like  sparks  from  flint,  showed  the 
metal  within;  and  in  the  bosom  of  that  Palmer’s 
gown  is  hidden  a  knight’s  chain  and  spurs  of  gold. 
They  glanced  as  you  stooped  over  my  bed  in  the 
morning.” 

The  Pilgrim  could  not  forbear  smilling.  “Were 
thy  garments  searched  by  as  curious  an  eye,  Isaac,” 
said  he,  “what  discoveries  might  not  be  made?” 

“No  more  of  that,”  said  the  Jew,  changing  color; 
and  drawing  forth  his  writing  materials  in  haste, 
as  if  to  stop  the  conversation,  he  began  to  write 
upon  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  supported  on  the 
top  of  his  yellow  cap,  without  dismounting  from  his 
mule.  When  he  had  finished,  he  delivered  the  scroll, 
which  was  in  the  Hebrew  character,  to  the  Pil¬ 
grim.  saying,  “In  the  town  of  Leicester  all  men 
know  the  rich  Jew,  Kirjath  Jairam  of  Lombardy; 
give  him  this  scroll — he  hath  on  sale  six  Milan1 
harnesses,  the  worst  would  suit  a  crowned  head — 
ten  goodly  steeds,  the  worst  might  mount  a  king, 
were  he  to  do  battle  for  his  throne.  Of  these  he 
will  give  thee  thy  choice,  with  everything  else  that 
can  furnish  thee  forth  for  the  tournament;  when 
it  is  over,  thou  wilt  return  them  safely — unless 
thou  shouldst  have  wherewith  to  pay  their  value 
to  the  owner.” 

“But,  Isaac,”  said  the  Pilgrim,  smiling,  “dost 
thou  know  that  in  these  sports,  the  arms  and  steed 
of  the  knight  who  is  unhorsed  are  forfeit  to  his 


^riien  capital  of  Lombardy  of  Northern  Italy. 

Question  :  How  did  Isaac  guess  what  the  Palmer- had 
been  wanting? 


IVANHOE 


yictor?  Now  I  may  be  unfortunate,  and  so  lose 
what  I  cannot  replace  or  repay.” 

The  Jew  looked  somewhat  astounded  at  this  pos¬ 
sibility;  but  collecting  his  courage,  he  replied 
hastily:  “No — no — no — It  is  impossible — I  will  not 
think  so.  The  blessing  of  Our  Father  will  be  upon 
thee.  Thy  lance  will  be  powerful  as  the  rod  of 
Moses.” 

So  saying,  he  was  turning  his  mule’s  head  away, 
when  the  Palmer,,  in  his  turn,  took  hold  of  his 
gaberdine.  “Nay,  but,  Isaac,  thou  knowest  not  all 
the  risk.  The  steed  may  be  slain,  the  armor  in- 
jjured — for  I  will  spare  neither  horse  nor  man. 
■Besides,  those  of  thy  tribe  give  nothing  for  noth¬ 
ing;  something  there  must  be  paid  for  their  use.” 

The  Jew  twisted  himself  in  the  saddle,  like  a  man 
in  a  fit  of  the  colic;  but  his  better  feelings  pre¬ 
dominated  over  those  which  were  most  familiar  to 
him.  “I  care  not,”  he  said,  “I  care  not — let  me 
go.  If  there  is  damage,  it  will  cost  you  nothing — if 
there  is  usage  money,  Kirjath  Jairam  will  forgive 
it  for  the  sake  of  his  kinsman  Isaac.  Fare  thee 
well! — Yet  hark  thee,  good  youth,”  said  he,  turning 
about;  “thrust  thyself  not  too  forward  into  this 
vain  hurly-burly — I  speak  not  for  endangering  the 
steed,  and  coat  of  armor,  but  for  the  sake  of  thine 
own  life  and  limbs.” 

“Gramercy  for  thy  caution,”  said  the  Palmer, 
again  smiling;  “I  will  use  thy  courtesy  frankly,  and 
it  will  go  hard  with  me  but  I  will  requite  it.” 

They  parted  and  took  different  roads  for  the  town 
of  Sheffield. 


CHAPTER  VII 


Knights,  with  a  long  retinue  of  their  squires, 

In  gaudy  liveries  march  and  quaint  attires ; 

One  laced  the  helm,  another  held  the  lance, 

A  third  the  shining  buckler  did  advance. 

The  courser  paw’d  the  ground  with  restless  feet, 

And  snorting  foam’d  and  champ’d  the  golden  bit. 

The  smiths  and  armorers  on  palfreys  ride, 

Files  in  their  hands,  and  hammers  at  their  side ; 

And  nails  for  loosen’d  spears,  and  thongs  for  shields  provide. 
The  yeomen  guard  the  streets  in  seemly  bands; 

And  clowns  come  crowding  on,  with  cudgels  in  their  hands. 

Palamon  and  Arcite. 

The  condition  of  the  English  nation  was  at  this 
time  sufficiently  miserable.  King  Richard  was  ab¬ 
sent  a  prisoner,  and  in  the  power  of  the  perfidious 
and  cruel  Duke  of  Austria.1  Even  the  very  place 
of  his  captivity  was  uncertain,  and  his  fate  but 
very  imperfectly  known  to  the  generality  of  his 
subjects,  who  were,  in  the  meantime,  a  prey  to 
every  species  of  subaltern  oppression.2 

Prince  John,  in  league  with  Philip  of  France, 
Cceur-de-Lion’s  mortal  enemy  was  using  every 
species  of  influence  with  the  Duke  of  Austria,  to 
prolong  the  captivity  of  his  brother  Richard,  to 
whom  he  stood  indebted  for  so  many  favors.  In 
the  meantime,  he  was  strengthening  his  own  faction 
in  the  kindgom,  of  which  he  proposed  to  dispute 
the  succession,  in  case  of  the  King’s  death,  with 


1  While  returning  from  a  crusade,  Richard  was  taken 
prisoner.  He  was  held  by  the  Duke  of  Austria  much  to 
the  delight  of  Prince  John,  who  preferred  to  hold  control 
of  the  kingdom.  In  1194,  he  escaped  and  returned  to  Eng¬ 
land. 

Oppression  by  those  under  the  king. 


IVANHOE 


89 


! 

I  the  legitimate  heir,  Arthur,  Duke  of  Brittany,  son 
j  of  Geoffrey  Plantaganet,  the  elder  brother  of  John. 
(This  usurpation,  it  is  well  known,  he  afterward 
effected.  His  own  character  being  light,  profligate, 
-and  perfidious,  John  easily  attached  to  his  person 
and  faction,  not  only  all  who  had  reason  to  dread 
the  resentment  of  Richard  for  criminal  proceed- 
!  ings  during  his  absence,  but  also  the  numerous 
!  class  of  “lawless  resolutes,”1  whom  the  crusades 
had  turned  back  on  their  country,  accomplished  in 
the  vices  of  the  East,  impoverished  in  substance, 
and  hardened  in  character,  and  who  placed  their 
hopes  of  harvest  in  civil  commotion. 

To  these  causes  of  public  distress  and  apprehen- 
s  sion,  must  be  added  the  multitude  of  outlaws,  who, 
driven  to  despair  by  the  oppression  of  the  feudal 
nobility,  and  the  severe  exercise  of  the  forest 
laws,  banded  together  in  large  gangs,  and,  keeping 
possession  of  the  forests  and  the  wastes,  set  at 
defiance  the  justice  and  magistracy  of  the  country. 
The  nobles  themselves,  each  fortified  within  his 
own  castle,  and  playing  the  petty  sovereign  over 
his  own  dominions,  were  the  leaders  of  bands 
scarce  less  lawless  and  oppressive  than  those  of 
the  avowed  depredators.  To  maintain  these  re¬ 
tainers,  and  to  support  the  extravagance  and  mag¬ 
nificence  which  their  pride  induced  them  to  affect, 
the  nobility  borrowed  sums  of  money  from  the  Jews 
at  the  most  usurious  interest,  which  gnawed  into 
their  estates  like  consuming  cankers,  scarce  to  be 
cured  unless  when  circumstances  gave  them  an 
opportunity  of  getting  free,  by  exercising  upon 
their  creditors  some  act  of  unprincipled  violence. 

Under  the  various  burdens  imposed  by  this  un¬ 
happy  state  of  affairs,  the  people  of  England  suf- 


1Desperadoes. 


90 


IVANHOE 


fered  deeply  for  the  present,  and  had  yet  more 
dreadful  cause  to  fear  for  the  future.  To  augment 
their  misery,  a  contagious  disorder  of  a  dangerous 
nature  spread  through  the  land;  and,  rendered 
more  virulent  by  the  uncleanness,  the  indifferent 
food,  and  the  wretched  lodging  of  the  lower  classes, 
swept  off  many  whose  fate  the  survivors  were 
tempted  to  envy,  as  exempting  them  from  the  evils 
which  were  to  come. 

Yet  amid  these  accumulated  distresses,  the  poor 
as  well  as  the  rich,  the  vulgar  as  well  as  the  noble, 
in  the  event  of  a  tournament,  which  was  the  grand 
spectacle  of  that  age,  felt  as  much  interested  as 
the  half-starved  citizen  of  Madrid,  who  has  not  a 
real  left  to  buy  provisions  for  his  family,  feels  in 
the  issue  of  a  bull-fight.  Neither  duty  nor  infirmity 
could  keep  youth  or  age  from  such  exhibitions. 
The  Passage  of  Arms,  as  it  was  called,  which  was 
to  take  place  at  Ashby,  in  the  county  of  Leicester, 
as  champions  of  the  first  renown  were  to  take  the 
field  in  the  presence  of  Prince  John  himself,  who 
was  expected  to  grace  the  lists,  had  attracted  uni¬ 
versal  attention,  and  an  immense  confluence  of 
persons  of  all  ranks  hastened  upon  the  appointed 
morning  to  the  place  of  combat. 

The  scene  was  singularly  romantic.  On  the  verge 
of  a  wood,  which  approached  to  within  a  mile  of 
the  town  of  Ashby,  was  an  extensive  meadow,  of 
the  finest  and  most  beautiful  green  turf,  surrounded 
on  one  side  by  the  forest,  and  fringed  on  the  other 
by  straggling  oak-trees,  some  of  which  had  grown 
to  an  immense  size.  The  ground,  as  if  fashioned 
on  purpose  for  the  martial  display  which  was  in¬ 
tended,  sloped  gradually  down  on  all  sides  to  a 
level  bottom,  which  was  inclosed  for  the  lists  with 
strong  palisades,  forming  a  space  of  a  quarter  of  a 


IVANHOE 


91 


mile  in  length,  and  about  half  as  broad.  The  form 
of  the  inclosure  was  an  oblong  square,  save  that  the 
corners  were  considerably  rounded  off,  in  order  to 
afford  more  convenience  for  the  spectators.  The 
openings  for  the  entry  of  the  combatants  were  at 
the  northern  and  southern  extremities  of  the  lists, 
accessible  by  strong  wooden  gates,  each  wide 
enough  to  admit  two  horsemen  riding  abreast.  At 
each  of  these  portals  were  stationed  two  heralds, 
attended  by  six  trumpets,  as  many  pursuivants,1  and 
a  strong  body  of  men-at-arms  for  maintaining  or¬ 
der,  and  ascertaining  the  quality  of  the  knights 
who  proposed  to  engage  in  this  martial  game. 

On  a  platform  beyond  the  southern  entrance, 
formed  by  a  natural  elevation  of  the  ground,  were 
pitched  five  magnificent  pavilions,  adorned  with 
pennons  of  russet  and  black,  the  chosen  colors  of 
the  five  knights  challengers.  The  cords  of  the 
tents  were  of  the  same  color.  Before  each  pavilion 
was  suspended  the  shield  of  the  knight  by  whom 
it  was  occupied,  and  beside  it  stood  his  squire, 
quaintly  disguised  as  a  salvage2  or  silvan  man,  or 
in  some  other  fantastic  dress,  according  to  the 
taste  of  his  master,  and  the  character  he  was 
pleased  to  assume  during  the  game.3  The  central 
pavilion,  as  the  place  of  honor,  had  been  assigned 
to  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  whose  renown  in  all 
games  of  chivalry,  no  less  than  his  connection  with 
the  knights  who  had  undertaken  this  Passage  of 

1  Attendants  to  the  heralds. 

^Savage,  a  woodsman. 

3“This  sort  of  masquerade  is  supposed  to  have  occasioned 
the  introduction  of  supporters  into  the  science  of  heraldry.” 
—Scott. 

Question:  What  events  to-day  are  similar  to  a  tourna¬ 
ment  in  the  interests  of  the  people? 


92 


IVANHOE 


Arms,  had  occasioned  him  to  be  eagerly  received 
into  the  company  of  the  challengers,  and  even  ad¬ 
opted  as  their  chief  and  leader,  though  he  had  so 
recently  joined  them.  On  one  side  of  his  tent 
were  pitched  those  of  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf  and 
Richard  de  Malvoisin,  and  on  the  other  was  the 
pavilion  of  Hugh  de  Grantmesnil,  a  noble  baron  in 
the  vicinity,  whose  ancestor  had  been  Lord  High 
Steward  of  England  in  the  time  of  the  Conqueror, 
and  his  son  William  Rufus.  Ralph  de  Vipont,  a 
knight  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  who  had  some  an¬ 
cient  possessions  at  a  place  called  Heather  near 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche,  occupied  the  fifth  pavilion. 
From  the  entrance  into  the  lists,  a  gently  sloping 
passage,  ten  yards  in  breadth,  led  up  to  the  plat¬ 
form  on  which  the  tents  were  pitched.  It  was 
strongly  secured  by  a  palisade  on  each  side,  as 
was  the  esplanade  in  front  of  the  pavilions,  and 
the  whole  was  guarded  by  men-at-arms. 

The  northern  access  to  the  lists  terminated  in  a 
similar  entrance  of  thirty  feet  in  breadth,  at  the  ex¬ 
tremity  of  which  was  a  large  inclosed  space  for 
such  knights  as  might  be  disposed  to  enter  the  lists 
with  the  challengers,  behind  which  were  placed 
tents  containing  refreshments  of  every  kind  for 
their  accommodation,  with  armorers,  farriers,  and 
other  attendants,  in  readiness  to  give  their  services 
wherever  they  might  be  necessary. 

The  exterior  of  the  lists  was  in  part  occupied 
by  temporary  galleries,  spread  with  tapestry  and 
carpets,  and  accommodated  with  cushions  for  the 
convenience  of  those  ladies  and  nobles  who  were 
expected  to  attend  the  tournament.  A  narrow 
space,  betwixt  these  galleries  and  the  lists,  gave 
accommodation  for  yeomanry  and  spectators  of  a 
better  degree  than  the  mere  vulgar,  and  might  be 


IVANHOE 


93 


jcompared  to  the  pit  of  a  theater.  The  promiscuous 
multitude  arranged  themselves  upon  large  banks 
of  turf  prepared  for  the  purpose  which,  aided  by 
the  natural  elevation  of  the  ground,  enabled  them 
to  overlook  the  galleries,  and  obtain  a  fair  view 
into  the  lists.  Besides  the  accommodation  which 
these  stations  afforded,  many  hundreds  had  perched 
themselves  on  the  branches  of  the  trees  which 
surrounded  the  meadow;  and  even  the  steeple  of 
a  country  church,  at  some  distance,  was  crowded 
with  spectators. 

It  only  remains  to  notice  respecting  the  general 
arrangement  that  one  gallery  in  the  very  center  of 
the  eastern  side  of  the  lists,  and  consequently  ex¬ 
actly  opposite  to  the  spot  where  the  shock  of  the 
combat  was  to  take  place,  was  raised  higher  than 
the  others,  more  richly  decorated  and  graced  by  a 
sort  of  throne  and  canopy,  on  which  the  royal  arms 
were  emblazoned.  Squires,  pages,  and  yeomen  in 
rich  liveries  waited  around  this  place  of  honor, 
which  was  designed  for  Prince  John  and  his  at¬ 
tendants.  Opposite  to  this  royal  gallery  was  an¬ 
other,  elevated  to  the  same  height,  on  the  western 
side  of  the  lists;  and  more  gayly,  if  less  sumptu¬ 
ously  decorated,  than  that  destined  for  the  Prince 
himself.  A  train  of  pages  and  of  young  maidens, 
the  most  beautiful  who  could  be  selected,  gayly 
dressed  in  fancy  habits  of  green  and  pink,  sur¬ 
rounded  a  throne  decorated  in  the  same  colors. 
Among  pennons  and  flags  bearing  wounded  hearts, 
burning  hearts,  bleeding  hearts,  bows  and  quivers, 
and  all  the  commonplace  emblems  of  the  triumphs 
of  Cupid,  a  blazoned  inscription  informed  the  spec¬ 
tators  that  this  seat  of  honor  was  designed  for 
La  Royne  de  la  Beaulte  et  des  Amours /  But  who 


aThe  Queen  of  Beauty  and  of  Love. 


94 


Ivan  hoe 


was  to  represent  the  Queen  of  Beauty  and  of  Love 
on  the  present  occasion,  no  one  was  prepared  to 
guess. 

Meanwhile,  spectators  of  every  description 
thronged  forward  to  occupy  their  respective  sta¬ 
tions,  and  not  without  many  quarrels  concerning 
those  which  they  were  entitled  to  hold.  Some  of 
these  were  settled  by  the  men-at-arms  with  brief 
ceremony;  the  shafts  of  their  battle-axes  and  pom¬ 
mels  of  their  swords  being  readily  employed  as 
arguments  to  convince  the  more  refractory.  Others, 
which  involved  the  rival  claims  of  more  elevated 
persons,  were  determined  by  the  heralds  or  by  the 
two  marshals  of  the  field,  William  de  Wyvil.  and 
Stephen  de  Martival,  who,  armed  at  all  points,  rode 
up  and  down  the  lists  to  enforce  and  preserve  good 
order  among  the  spectators. 

Gradually  the  galleries  became  filled  with  knights 
and  nobles,  in  their  robes  of  peace,  whose  long  and 
rich-tinted  mantles  were  contrasted  with  the  gayer 
and  more  splendid  habits  of  the  ladies,  who,  in  a 
greater  portion  than  even  the  men  themselves, 
thronged  to  witness  a  sport,  which  one  would  have 
thought  too  bloody  and  dangerous  to  afford  their 
sex  much  pleasure.  The  lower  and  interior  space 
was  soon  filled  by  substantial  yeomen  and  burghers 
and  such  of  the  lesser  gentry,  as  from  modesty,  pov¬ 
erty,  or  dubious  title,  durst  not  assume  any  higher 
place.  It  was  of  course  amongst  these  that  the  mosl 
frequent  disputes  for  precedence  occurred. 

“Dog  of  an  unbeliever,”  said  an  old  man,  whose 
threadbare  tunic  bore  witness  to  his  poverty,  as 
his  sword,  and  dagger,  and  golden  chain  intimatec 
his  pretensions  to  rank,  “whelp  of  a  she-wolf! 
darest  thou  press  upon  a  Christian,  and  a  Normal 
gentleman  of  the  blood  of  Montdidier?” 


IVANHOE 


95 


This  rough  expostulation  was  addressed  to  no 
other  than  our  acquaintance  Isaac,  who,  richly  and 
even  magnificently  dressed  in  a  gaberdine  orna¬ 
mented  with  lace  and  lined  with  fur,  was  endeavor¬ 
ing  to  make  place  in  the  foremost  row  beneath  the 
gallery  for  his  daughter,  the  beautiful  Rebecca, 
who  had  joined  him  at  Ashby,  and  who  was  now 
hanging  on  her  father’s  arm,  not  a  little  terrified 
by  the  popular  displeasure  which  seemed  generally 
excited  by  her  parent’s  presumption.  But  Isaac, 
though  we  have  seen  him  sufficiently  timid  on  other 
occasions,  knew  well  that  at  present  he  had  nothing 
to  fear.  It  was  not  in  places  of  general  resort,  or 
where  their  equals  were  assembled,  that  any  avari¬ 
cious  or  malevolent  noble  durst  offer  him  injury. 
At  such  meetings  the  Jews  were  under  the  protec¬ 
tion  of  the  general  law;  and  if  that  proved  a  weak 
assurance,  it  usually  happened  that  there  were 
among  the  persons  assembled  some  barons,  who, 
for  their  own  interested  motives,  were  ready  to  act 
as  their  protectors.  On  the  present  occasion. 
Isaac  felt  more  than  usually  cqnfident,  being  aware 
that  Prince  John  was  even  then  in  the  very  act  of 
negotiating  a  large  loan  from  the  Jews  of  York,  to 
be  secured  upon  certain  jewels  and  lands.  Isaac’s 
own  share  in  this  transaction  was  considerable, 
and  he  well  knew  that  the  Prince’s  eager  desire 
to  bring  it  to  a  conclusion  would  insure  him  his 
protection  in  the  dilemma  in  which  he  stood. 

Emboldened  by  these  considerations,  th.e  Jew  pur¬ 
sued  his  point,  and  jostled  the  Norman  Christian, 
without  respect  either  to  his  descent,  quality,  or 
religion.  The  complaints  of  the  old  man,  however, 
excited  the  indignation  of  the  bystanders.  One  of 

Question:  Why  did  Isaac  have  nothing  to  fear? 


96 


IVANHOE 


these,  a  stout  well-set  yeoman,  arrayed  in  Lincoln- 
green,1  having  twelve  arrows  stuck  in  his  belt,  with 
a  baldric  and  badge  of  silver,  and  a  bow  of  six 
feet  length  in  his  hand,  turned  short  round,  and 
while  his  countenance,  which  his  constant  ex-  j 
posure  to  weather  had  rendered  brown  as  a  hazel 
nut,  grew  darker  with  anger,  he  advised  the  Jew  to 
remember  that  all  the  wealth  he  had  acquired  by 
sucking  the  blood  of  his  miserable  victims  had  but 
swelled  him  like  a  bloated  spider,  which  might  be 
overlooked  while  it  kept  in  a  corner,  but  would  be 
crushed  if  it  ventured  into  the  light.  This  intima¬ 
tion,  delivered  in  Norman-English  with  a  firm  voice  ! 
and  a  stern  aspect,  made  the  Jew  shrink  back;  and 
he  would  have  probably  withdrawn  himself  altogeth-  1 
er  from  a  vicinity  so  dangerous,  had  not  the  atten- 
tion  of  every  one  been  called  to  the  sudden  entrance  j 
of  Prince  John,  who  at  that  moment  entered  the 
lists,  attended  by  a  numerous  and  gay  train,  con¬ 
sisting  partly  of  laymen,  partly  of  churchmen,  as 
light  in  their  dress,  and  as  gay  in  their  demeanor, 
as  their  companions.  Among  the  latter  was  the  I 
Prior  of  Jorvaulx,  in  the  most  gallant  trim  which  a  1 
dignitary  of  the  church  could  venture  to  exhibit. 
Fur  and  gold  were  not  spared  in  his  garments;  and  ; 
the  point  of  his  boots,  out-heroding  the  preposterous  ! 
fashion  of  the  time,  turned  up  so  very  far,  as  to  be  1 
attached,  not  to  his  knees  merely,  but  to  his  very 
girdle,  and  effectually  prevented  him  from  putting  * 
his  foot  into  the  stirrup.  This,  however,  was  a  slight  ! 
inconvenience  to  the  gallant  Abbot,  who,  perhaps, 
even  rejoicing  in  the  opportunity  to  display  his  ac-  1 
complished  horsemanship  before  so  many  spectators, 


A  bright  green  cloth  worn  by  foresters.  It  was  made 
at  Lincoln. 


Ivan  hoe 


97 


specially  of  the  fair  sex,  dispensed  with  the  use 
f  these  supports  to  a  timid  rider.  The  rest  of  Prince 
)hn’s  retinue  consisted  of  the  favorite  leaders  of  his 
ercenary  troops,  some  marauding  barons  and  profli- 
ate  attendants  upon  the  court,  with  several  Knights 
emplars  and  Knights  of  St.  John. 

It  may  be  here  remarked,  that  the  knights  of  these 
vvo  orders  were  accounted  hostile  to  King  Rich- 
rd,  having  adopted  the  side  of  Philip  of  France 
i  the  long  train  of  disputes  which  took  place  in 
alestine  betwixt  that  monarch  and  the  lion-hearted 
ling  of  England.  It  was  the  well-known  conse- 
uence  of  this  discord  that  Richard’s  repeated  vic- 
Dries  had  been  rendered  fruitless,  his  romantic  at- 
impts  to  besiege  Jerusalem  disappointed,  and  the 
ruit  of  all  the  glory  which  he  had  acquired  had 
windled  into  an  uncertain  truce  with  the  Sultan 
aladin.  With  the  same  policy  which  had  dictated 
he  conduct  of  their  brethren  in  the  Holy  Land,  the 
'emplars  and  Hospitallers  in  England  and  Nor- 
landy  attached  themselves  to  the  faction  of  Prince 
ohn,  having  little  reason  to  desire  the  return  of 
lichard  to  England,  or  the  succession  of  Arthur,  his 
egitimate  heir.  For  the  opposite  reason,  Prince 
ohn  hated  and  contemned  the  few  Saxon  families  of 
onsequence  which  subsisted  in  England,  and  omitted 
10  opportunity  of  mortifying  and  affronting  them, 
eing  conscious  that  his  person  and  pretensions  were 
;isliked  by  them  as  well  as  by  the  greater  part  of  the 
English  commons,  who  feared  farther  innovation 
ipon  their  rights  and  liberties,  from  a  sovereign  of 
ohn’s  licentious  and  tyrannical  disposition. 

Attended  by  this  gallant  equipage,  himself  well 
nounted,  and  splendidly  dressed  in  crimson  and  in 
Told,  bearing  upon  his  hand  a  falcon,  and  having 
lis  head  covered  by  a  rich  fur  bonnet,  adorned  with 
i  circle  of  precious  stones,  from  which  his  long 


98 


Ivan  hoe 


curled  hair  escaped  and  overspread  his  shoulder; 
Prince  John,  upon  a  gray  and  high-mettled  palfrej 
caracoled  within  the  lists  at  the  head  of  his  jovis 
party,  laughing  loud  with  his  train,  and  eyeing  wit 
all  the  boldness  of  royal  criticism  the  beauties  wh 
adorned  the  lofty; galleries. 

-Those  who  remarked  in  the  physiognomy  of  th 
Prince  a  dissolute  audacity,  mingled  with  extreir 
haughtiness  and  indifference  to  the  feelings  of  otl 
ers,  could  not  yet  deny  to  his  countenance  that  so; 
of  comeliness  which  belongs  to  an  open  set  of  fer 
tures,  well  formed  by  nature  modeled  by  art  to  tt 
usual  rules  of  courtesy,  yet  so  frank  and  honest  th<* 
they  seemed  as  if  they  disclaimed  to  conceal  the  na 
uraT  workings  of  the  soul.  Such  an  expression  is  of 
en  mistaken  for  manly  frankness,  when  in  truth 
arises  from  the  reckless  indifference  of  a  libertir 
disposition,  conscious  of  superiority  of  birth,  < 
wealth,  or  of  some  other  adventitious  advantag 
totally  unconnected  with  personal  merit.  To  tho; 
who  did  not  think  so  deeply,  and  they  were  tl 
greater  number  by  a  hundred  to  one,  the  splend< 
of  Prince  John’s  rheno  (i.  e.,  fur  tippet),  the  ric] 
ness  of  his  cloak,  lined  with  the  most  costly  sable 
his  maroquin  boots  and  golden  spurs,  together  wii 
the  grace  with  which  he  managed  his  palfrey,  we: 
sufficient  to  merit  clamorous  applause. 

In  his  joyous  caracole  round  the  lists,  the  atte 
tion  of  the  Prince  was  called  by  the  commotion,  n 
yet  subsided,  which  had  attended  the  ambitio- 
movement  of  Isaac  towards  the  higher  places  of  tl 
assembly.  The  quick  eye  of  Prince  John  instant 
recognized  the  Jew,  but  was  much  more  agreeab 
attracted  by  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Zion,  wh 
terrified  by  the  tumult,  clung  close  to  the  arm 
her  aged  father. 

.  The  figure ;  of  Rebecca  might  indeed  have  cor 


IVANHOE 


99 


pared  with  the  proudest  beauties  of  England,  even 
though  it  had  been  judged  by  as  shrewd  a  connois¬ 
seur  as  Prince  John.  Her  form  was  exquisitely  sym¬ 
metrical,  and  was  shown  to  advantage  by  a  sort  of 
Eastern  dress,  which  she  wore  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  females  of  her  nation.  Her  turban 
of  yellow  silk  suited  well  with  the  darkness  of  her 
complexion.  The  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  the  superb 
arch  of  bier  eyebrows,  her  well-formed  aquiline  nose, 
her  teeth  as  white  as  pearl,  and  the  profusion  of  her 
sable  tresses,  which,  each  arranged  in  its  own  little 
spiral  of  twisted  curls,  fell  down  upon  as  much  of  a 
lovely  neck  and  bosom  as  a  simarre  of  the  richest 
Persian  silk,  exhibiting  flowers  in  their  natural 
colors  embossed  upon  a  purple  ground,  permitted  to 
be  visible — all  these  constituted  a  combination  of 
loveliness,  which  yielded  not  to  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  maidens  who  surrounded  her.  It  is  true,  that 
of  the  golden  and  pearl-studded  clasps,  which  closed 
her  vest  from  the  throat  to  the  waist,  the  three  up¬ 
permost  were  left  unfastened  on  account  of  the  heat, 
which  something  enlarged  the  prospect  to  which  we 
allude.  A  diamond  necklace,  with  pendants  of  in¬ 
estimable  value,  were  by  this  means  also  made  more 
conspicuous.  The  feather  of  an  ostrich,  fastened  in 
her  turban  by  an  agraffe  set  with  brilliants,  was 
another  distinction  of  the  beautiful  Jewess,  scoffed 
and  sneered  at  by  the  proud  dames  who  sat  above 
her,  but  secretly  envied  by  those  who  affected  to 
deride  them. 

“By  the  bald  scalp  of  Abraham,”  said  Prince 
John,  “yonder  Jewess  must  be  the  very  model  of 
that  perfection,  whose  charms  drove  frantic  the 
wisest  king  that  ever  lived!  What  sayest  thou,  Prior 
Aymer? — By  the  Temple  of  that  wise  king,  which 


100 


IVANHOE 


our  wiser  brother  Richard  proved  unable  to  recover* 
she  is  the  very  Bride  of  the  Canticles!”1 

“The  Rose  of  Sharon2  and  the  Lily  of  the  Valley,” 
answered  the  Prior,  in  a  sort  of  snuffling  tone;  “but 
your  Grace  must  remember  she  is  still  but  a  Jewess.” 

“Ay!”  added  Prince  John,  without  heeding  him, 
“and  there  is  my  Mammon3  of  unrighteousness  too — 
the  Marquis  of  Marks,  the  Baron  of  Byzants,  contest¬ 
ing  for  place  with  penniless  dogs,  whose  threadbare 
cloaks  have  not  a  single  cross  in  their  pouches  to 
keep  the  devil  from  dancing  there.  By  the  body  of 
St.  Mark,  my  prince  of  supplies,  with  his  lovely 
Je\vess  shall  have  a  place  in  the  gallery! — What  is 
she,  Isaac?  Thy  wife  or  thy  daughter,  that  Eastern 
houri  that  thou  lockest  under  thy  arm  as  thou 
wouldst  thy  treasure-casket?” 

“My  daughter  Rebecca,  so  please  your  Grace,” 
answered  Isaac,  with  a  low  congee,  nothing  embar¬ 
rassed  by  the  Prince’s  salutation,  in  which,  however, 
there  was  at  least  as  much  mockery  as  courtesy. 

“The  wiser  man  thou,”  said  John,  with  a  peal  of 
laughter,  in  which  his  gay  followers  obsequiously 
joined.  “But,  daughter  or  wife,  she  should  be 
preferred  according  to  her  beauty  and  thy  merits. — 
Who  sits  above  there?”  he  continued,  bending  his 
eye  on  the  gallery.  “Saxon  churls,  lolling  at  their 
lazy  length! — out  upon  them! — let  them  sit  close, 
and  make  room  for  my  prince  of  usurers  and  his 
lovely  daughter.  I’ll  make  the  hinds  know  they 
must  share  the  high  places  of  the  synagogue  with 
those  whom  the  synagogue  properly  belongs  to.” 

Tho:e  who  occupied  the  gallery  to  whom  this  in¬ 
jurious  and  unpolite  speech  was  addressed,  were  the 
family  of  Cedric  the  Saxon,  with  that  of  his  ally 

*Songs  of  Solomon. 

2Song  of  Solomon  II,  1. 

8Syrian  God  of  Riches,  used  to  personify  worldliness. 


IVANHOE 


101 


and  kinsman,  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh,  a  per¬ 
sonage  who,  on  account  of  his  descent  from  the  last 
Saxon  monarchs  of  England,  was  held  in  the  highest 
respect  by  all  the  Saxon  natives  of  the  north  of  Eng¬ 
land.  But  with  the  blood  of  this  ancient  royal  race, 
many  of  their  infirmities  had  descended  to  Athel¬ 
stane.  He  was  comely  in  countenance,  bulky  and 
strong  in  person,  and  in  the  flower  of  his  age — yet 
inanimate  in  expression,  dull-eyed,  heavy-browed, 
inactive  and  sluggish  in  all  his  motions,  and  so  slow 
in  resolution  that  the  soubriquet  of  one  of  his  an¬ 
cestors  was  conferred  upon  him,  and  he  was  very  gen¬ 
erally  called  Athelstane  the  Unready.  His  friends, 
and  he  had  many,  who,  as  well  as  Cedric,  were 
passionately  attached  to  him,  contended  that  this 
sluggish  temper  arose  not  from  want  of  courage,  but 
from  mere  want  of  decision;  others  alleged  that  his 
hereditary  vice  of  drunkenness  had  obscured  his 
faculties,  never  of  a  very  acute  order,  and  that  the 
passive  courage  and  meek  good-nature  which  re¬ 
mained  behind  were  merely  the  dregs  of  a  character 
that  might  have  been  deserving  of  praise,  but  of 
which  all  the  valuable  parts  had  flown  off  in  the 
progress  of  a  long  course  of  brutal  debauchery. 

It  was  to  this  person,  such  as  we  have  described 
him,  that  the  Prince  addressed  his  imperious  com¬ 
mand  to  make  place  for  Isaac  and  Rebecca.  Athel¬ 
stane,  utterly  confounded  at  an  order  which  the 
manners  and  feelings  of  the  times  rendered  so  in¬ 
juriously  insulting,  unwilling  to  obey,  yet  undeter¬ 
mined  how  to  resist,  opposed  only  the  vis  inertiae1  to 
the  will  of  John;  and,  without  stirring  or  making 
any  motion  whatever  of  obedience,  opened  his  large 
gray  eyes,  and  stared  at  the  Prince  with  an  as¬ 
tonishment  which  had  in  it  something  extremely 


'Sluggishness  (strength  of  inertia). 


102 


IVANHOE 


ludicrous.  But  the  impatient  John  regarded  it  in  no 
such  light. 

“The  Saxon  porker,”  he  said,  “is  either  asleep 
or  minds  me  not — prick  him  with  your  lance,  De 
Bracy,”  speaking  to  a  knight  who  rode  near  him, 
the  leader  of  a  band  of  Free  Companions,  or  Con- 
dottieri;  that  is,  of  mercenaries  belonging  to  no 
particular  nation,  but  attached  for  the  time  to  any 
prince  by  whom  they  were  paid.  There  was  a  mur¬ 
mur  even  among  the  attendants  of  Prince  John;  but 
De  Bracy,  whose  profession  freed  him  from  all 
scruples,  extended  his  long  lance  over  the  space 
which  separated  the  gallery  from  the  lists,  and  would 
have  executed  the  commands  of  the  Prince  before 
Athelstane  the  Unready  had  recovered  presence  of 
mind  sufficient  even  to  draw  back  his  person  from 
the  weapon,  had  not  Cedric,  as  prompt  as  his  com¬ 
panion  was  tardy,  unsheathed,  with  the  speed  of 
lightning,  the  short  sword  which  he  wore,  and  at  a 
single  blow  severed  the  point  of  the  lance  from  the 
handle.  The  blood  rushed  into  the  countenance  of 
Prince  John.  He  swore  one  of  his  deepest  oaths, 
and  was  about  to  utter  some  threat  corresponding  in 
violence,  when  he  was  diverted  from  his  purpose, 
partly  by  his  own  attendants,  who  gathered  arornd 
him  conjuring  him  to  be  patient,  partly  by  a  general 
exclamation  of  the  crowd,  uttered  in  loud  applause 
of  the  spirited  conduct  of  Cedric.  The  Prince  rolled 
his  eyes  in  indignation,  as  if  to  collect  some  safe  and 
easy  victim;  and  chancing  to  encounter  the  firm 
glance  of  the  same  archer  whom  we  have  already  no¬ 
ticed,  and  who  seemed  to  persist  in  his  gesture  of 
applause,  in  spite  of  the  frowning  aspect  which  the 
Prince  bent  upon  him,  he  demanded  his  reason  for 
clamoring  thus. 


Ivan  hoe 


103 


|  “I  always  add  my  hollo, ,n  said  the  yeoman,  “when 

see  a  good  shot,  or  a  gallant  blow.” 

“Sayest  thou?”  answered  the  Prince;  “then  thou 
:anst  hit  the  white* 2  thyself,  I’ll  warrant.” 

“A  woodsman’s  mark,  and  at  woodsman’s  distance 
'  can  hit,”  answered  the  yeoman. 

“And  Wat  Tyrrel’s  mark,3  at  a  hundred  yards,” 
jaid  a  voice  from  behind,  but  by  whom  uttered  could 
tot  be  discerned. 

This  allusion  to  the  fate  of  William  Rufus,  his 
grandfather,  at  once  incensed  and  alarmed  Prince 
fohn.  He  satisfied  himself,  however,  with  command¬ 
ing  the  men-at-arms,  who  surrounded  the  lists,  to 
keep  an  eye  on  the  braggart,  pointing  to  the  yeoman, 

“By  St.  Grizzel,”4  he  added,  “we  will  try  his  own 
skill,  who  is  so  ready  to  give  his  voice  to  the  feats 
of  others!” 

“I  shall  not  fly  the  trial,”  said  the  yeoman,  with 
the  composure  which  marked  his  whole  deportment. 

“Mjeanwhile,  stand  up,  ye  Saxon  churls,”  said  the 
fiery  Prince;  “for,  by  the  light  of  Heaven,  since  I 
have  said  it,  the  Jew  shall  have  his  seat  amongst 

ye!”  .  . 

“By  no  means,  an  it  please  your  Grace !— it  is 
not  fit  for  such  as  we  to  sit  with  the  rulers  of  the 
land,”  said  the  Jew;  whose  ambition  for  precedence, 
though  it  had  led  him  to  dispute  place  with  the  ex¬ 
tenuated  and  impoverished  descendant  of  the  line 
of  Montdidier,  by  no  means  stimulated  him  to  an 
intrusion  upon  the  privileges  of  the  wealthy  Saxons. 

“Up,  infidel  dog,  when  I  command  you,”  said 


Applause. 

2The  bull’s  eye  of  the  target. 

Supposed  to  have  killed  William  Rufus  by  an  arrow 
while  they  were  hunting. 

‘Model  patience  and  wifely  obedience. 


104 


IVANHOE 


Prince  John,  “or  I  will  have  thy  swarthy  hide  stript 
off,  and  tanned  for  horse-furniture!” 

Thus  urged,  the  Jew  began  to  ascend  the  steep  and 
narrow  steps  which  led  up  to  the  gallery. 

“Let  me  see,”  said  the  Prince,  “who  dare  stop 
him!”  fixing  his  eye  on  Cedric,  whose  attitude  inti¬ 
mated  his  intention  to  hurl  the  Jew  down  headlong. 

The  catastrophe  was  prevented  by  the  clown 
Wamba,  who,  springing  betwixt  his  master  and  Isaac, 
and  exclaiming,  in  answer  to  the  Prince’s  defiance, 
“Marry,  that  will  I!”  opposed  to  the  beard  of  the 
Jew  a  shield  of  brawn,  which  he  plucked  from  be¬ 
neath  his  cloak,  and  with  which,  doubtless,  he  had 
furnished  himself,  lest  the  tournament  should  have 
proved  longer  than  his  appetite  could  endure  abstin¬ 
ence.  Finding  the  abomination  of  his  tribe  opposed 
to  his  very  nose,  while  the  Jester,  at  the  same  time, 
flourished  his  wooden  sword  above  his  head,  the  Jew 
recoiled,  missed  his  footing,  and  rolled  down  the 
steps, — an  excellent  jest  to  the  spectators,  who  set  up 
a  loud  laughter,  in  which  Prince  John  and  his  at¬ 
tendants  heartily  joined. 

“Deal  me  the  prize,  cousin  Prince,”  said  Wamba; 
“I  have  vanquished  my  foe  in  fair  fight  with  sword 
and  shield,”  he  added,  brandishing  the  brawn  in  one 
hand  and  the  wooden  sword  in  the  other. 

“Who  and  what  art  thou,  noble  champion?”  said 
Prince  John,  still  laughing. 

“A  fool  by  right  of  descent,”  answered  the  Jester; 
“I  am  Wamba,  the  son  of  Witless,  who  was  the  son 
of  Weatherbrain,  who  was  the  son  of  an  Alderman.” 

“Make  room  for  the  Jew  in  front  of  the  lower 
ring,”  said  Prince  John,  not  unwilling  perhaps  to 
seize  an  apology  to  desist  from  his  original  purpose; 
“to  place  the  vanquished  beside  the  victor  were  false 
heraldry.” 

“Knave  upon  fool  were  worse,”  answered  the 


IVANHOE 


105 


Jester,  “and  Jew  upon  bacon  worst  of  all.” 

“Gramercy!  good  fellow,”  cried  Prince  John,  “thou 
pleasest  me — Here,  Isaac,  lend  me  a  handful  of 
byzants.” 

As  the  Jew,  stunned  by  the  request,  afraid  to  re¬ 
fuse,  and  unwilling  to  comply,  fumbled  in  the  furred 
bag  which  hung  by  his  girdle,  and  was  perhaps  en¬ 
deavoring  to  ascertain  how  few  coins  might  pass  for 
a  handful,  the  Prince  stooped  from  his  jennet  and 
settled  Isaac’s  doubts  by  snatching  the  pouch  itself 
from  his  side;  and  flinging  to  Wamba  a  couple  of 
the  gold  pieces  which  it  contained,  he  pursued  his 
career  round  the  lists,  leaving  the  Jew  to  the  derision 
of  those  around  him,  and  himself  receiving  as  much 
applause  from  the  spectators  as  if  he  had  done  some 
honest  and  honorable  action. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


At  this  the  challenger  with  fierce  defy 

His  trumpet  sounds ;  the  challenged  makes  reply ; 

With  clangor  rings  the  fieM,  resounds  the  vaulted  sky. 
Their  visors  closed,  their  lances  in  the  rest, 

Or  at  the  helmet  pointed,  or  the  crest, 

They  vanish  from  the  barrier,  speed  the  race, 

And  spurring  see  decrease  the  middle  space. 

Palamon  and  Arcite. 

In  the  midst  of  Prince  John’s  cavalcade,  he  sud¬ 
denly  stopt,  and  appealing  to  the  Prior  of  Jorvaulx, 
declared  the  principal  business  of  the  day  had  been 
forgotten. 

“By  my  halidom,”  said  he,  “we  have  neglected, 
Sir  Prior,  to  name  the  fair  Sovereign  of  Love  and 
of  Beauty,  by  whose  white  hand  the  palm  is  to  be 
distributed.  For  my  part,  I  am  liberal  in  my  ideas, 
and  I  care  not  if  I  give  my  vote  for  the  black-eyed 
Rebecca.” 

“Holy  Virgin,”  answered  the  Prior,  turning  up 
his  eyes  in  horror,  “a  Jewess! — We  should  deserve 
,to  be  stoned  out  of  the  lists;  and  I  am  not  yet  old 
enough  to  be  a  martyr.  Besides,  I  swear  by  my 
patron  saint,  that  she  is  far  inferior  to  the  lovely 
Saxon,  Rowena.” 

“Saxon  or  Jew,”  answered  the  Prince,  “Saxon  or 
Jew,  dog  or  hog,  what  matters  it!  I  say,  name 
Rebecca,  were  it  only  to  mortify  the  Saxon  churls.” 

A  murmur  arose  even  among  his  own  immediate 
attendants. 

“This  passes  a  jest,  my  lord,”  said  De  Bracy; 
“no  knight  here  will  lay  lance  in  rest  if  such  an 
insult  is  attempted.” 

“It  is  the  mere  wantonness  of  insult,”  said  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  important  of  Prince  John’s  fol- 


Ivan  hoe 


107 


lowers,  Waldemar  Fitzurse,  “and  if  your  Grace  at¬ 
tempt  it,  cannot  but  prove  ruinous  to  your  projects.” 

“1  entertained  you,  sir,”  said  John,  reining  up  his 
palfrey  haughtily,  “for  my  follower,  but  not  for  my 
counselor.” 

“Those  who  follow  your  Grace  in  the  paths  which 
you  tread,”  said  Waldemar,  but  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  “acquire  the  right  of  counselors;  for  your  in¬ 
terest  and  safety  are  not  more  deeply  gaged  than 
their  own.” 

From  the  tone  in  which  this  was  spoken,  John  saw 
the  necessity  of  acquiescence.  “I  did  but  jest,”  he 
said;  “and  you  turn  upon  me  like  so  many  adders! 
Name  whom  you  will,  in  the  fiend's  name,  and  please 
yourselves.” 

“Nay,  nay,”  said  De  Bracy,  “let  the  fair  sover¬ 
eign's  throne  remain  unoccupied  until  the  con¬ 
queror  shall  be  named,  and  then  let  him  choose  the 
lady  by  whom  it  shall  be  filled.  It  will  add  another 
grace  to  his  triumph,  and  teach  fair  ladies  to  prize 
the  love  of  valiant  knights,  who  can  exalt  them  to 
such  distinction.” 

“If  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  gain  the  prize,”  said 
the  Prior,  “I  will  gage  my  rosary  that  I  name  the 
Sovereign  of  Love  and  Beauty.” 

“Bois-Guilbert,”  answered  De  Bracy,  “is  a  good 
lance;  but  there  are  others  around  these  lists,  Sir 
Prior,  who  will  not  fear  to  encounter  him.” 

“Silence,  sirs,”  said  Waldemar,  “and  let  the  Prince 
assume  his  seat.  The  knights  and  spectators  are 
alike  impatient,  the  time  advances,  and  highly  fit  it 
is  that  the  sports  should  commence.” 

Prince  John,  though  not  yet  a  monarch,  had  in 
Waldemar  Fitzurse  all  the  inconveniences  of  a  favor¬ 
ite  minister,  who,  in  serving  his  sovereign,  must  al¬ 
ways  do  so  in  his  own  way.  The  Prince  acquiesced, 
however,  although  his  disposition  was  precisely  of 


108 


IVANHOE 


that  kind  which  is  apt  to  be  obstinate  upon  trifles 
and,  assuming  his  throne,  and  being  surrounded  bj 
his  followers,  gave  signal  to  the  heralds  to  proclaiir 
the  laws  of  the  tournament,  which  were  briefly  at 
follows:, 

First,  the  five  challengers  were  to  undertake  ali 
comers. 

Secondly,  any  knight  proposing  to  combat,  might 
if  he  pleased,  select  a  special  antagonist  from  among 
the  challengers,  by  touching  his  shield.  If  he  did  scj 
with  the  reverse  of  his  lance,  the  trial  of  skill  was! 
made  with  what  were  called  the  arms  of  courtesy 
that  is,  with  lances  at  whose  extremity  a  piece  oJ 
round  flat  board  was  fixed,  so  that  no  danger  was  en 
countered,  save  from  the  shock  of  the  horses  and 
riders.  But  if  the  shield  was  touched  with  the  sharp 
end  of  the  lance,  the  combat  was  understood  to  be  al 
outmnce /  that  is,  the  knights  were  to  fight  with 
sharp  weapons,  as  in  actual  battle. 

Thirdly,  when  the  knights  present  had  accom¬ 
plished  their  vow,  by  each  of  them  breaking  five 
lances,  the  Prince  was  to  declare  the  victor  in  the 
first  day’s  tourney,  who  should  receive  as  prize  z 
war-horse  of  exquisite  beauty  and  matchless; 
strength;  and  in  addition  to  this  reward  of  valor,  it 
was  now  declared,  he  should  have  the  peculiar  hon¬ 
or  of  naming  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  bj 
whom  the  prize  should  be  given  on  the  ensuing  day 

Fourthly,  it  was  announced,  that,  on  the  second 
day,  there  should  be  a  general  tournament,  in  which 
all  the  knights  present,  who  were  desirous  to  win 
praise,  might  take  part;  and  being  divided  into  two 
bands,  of  equal  numbers,  might  fight  it  out  manfully, 
until  the  signal  was  given  by  Prince  John  to  cease 
the  combat.  The  elected  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty 


To  the  uttermost,  to  the  death. 


IVANHOE 


109 


tvas  then  to  crown  the  knight  whom  the  Prince 
should  adjudge  to  have  borne  himself  best  in  this 
second  day,  with  a  coronet  composed  of  thin  gold 
plate,  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  laurel  crown.  On  this 
second  day  the  knightly  games  ceased.  But  on  that 
which  was  to  follow,  feats  of  archery,  of  bull-baiting, 
and  other  popular  amusements,  were  to  be  prac¬ 
ticed  for  the  more  immediate  amusement  of  the  pop¬ 
ulace.  In  this  manner  did  Prince  John  endeavor  to 
lay  the  foundation  of  a  popularity,  which  he  was 
perpetually  throwing  down  by  some  inconsiderate 
act  of  wanton  aggression  upon  the  feelings  and 
prejudices  of  the  people. 

The  lists  now  presented  a  most  splendid  'spectacle. 
The  sloping  galleries  were  crowded  with  all  that  was 
noble,  great,  wealthy,  and  beautiful,  in  the  northern 
and  midland  parts  of  England;  and  the  contrast  of 
the  various  dresses  of  these  dignified  spectators 
rendered  the  view  as  gay  as  it  was  rich,  while  the 
interior  and  lower  space,  filled  with  the  substantial 
burgesses  and  yeomen  of  merry  England,  formed,  in 
their  more  plain  attire,  a  dark  fringe,  or  bordic, 
around  this  circle  of  brilliant  embroidery,  relieving, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  setting  off  its  splendor. 

The  heralds  finished  their  proclamation  with  their 
usual  cry  of  ‘‘Largesse,  largesse,  gallant  knights! 
and  gold  and  silver  pieces  were  showered  on  them 
from  the  gallery,  it  being  a  high  point  of  chivalry 
to  exhibit  liberality  towards  those  whom  the  age  ac¬ 
counted  at  once  the  secretaries  and  the  historians  of 
honor.  The  bounty  of  the  spectators  was  acknowl¬ 
edged  by  the  customary  shouts  of  “Love  of  Ladies 

_ Death  of  Champions— Honor  to  the  Generous — 

Glory  to  the  Brave!”  To  which  the  more  humble 
spectators  added  their  acclamations,  and  a  numerous 


Question:  What  were  the  rules  of  the  tournament? 


110 


Ivan  hoe 


I 


band  of  trumpeters  the  flourish  of  their  martial  in- 1 
struments.  When  these  sounds  had  ceased,  the 
heralds  withdrew  from  the  lists  in  gay  and  glitter¬ 
ing  procession,  and  none  remained  within  them  sj^ve 
the  marshals  of  the  field,  who,  armed  cap-a-pie,  sat 
on  horseback,  motionless  as  statues,  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  lists.  Meantime,  the  inclosed  space  at 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  large  as  it  was, 
was  now  completely  crowded  with  knights  desirous 
to  prove  their  skill  against  the  challengers,  and, 
when  viewed  from  the  galleries,  presented  the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  a  sea  of  waving  plumage,  intermixed 
with  glistening  helmets,  and  tall  lances,  to  the  ex¬ 
tremities  of  which  were,  in  many  cases,  attached 
small  pennons  of  about  a  span’s  breadth,  which,  flut¬ 
tering  in  the  air  as  the  breeze  caught  them,  joined 
with  the  restless  motion  of  the  feathers  to  add  live¬ 
liness  to  the  scene. 

At  length  the  barriers  were  opened,  and  five 
knights,  chosen  by  lot,  advanced  slowly  into  the 
area;  a  single  champion  riding  in  front,  and  the 
other  four  following  in  pairs.  All  were  splendidly 
armed,  and  my  Saxon  authority  (in  the  Wardour 
Manuscript)1  records  at  great  length  their  devices, 
their  colors,  and  the  embroidery  of  their  horse  trap¬ 
pings.  It  is  unnecessary  to  be  particular  on  these 
subjects.  To  borrow  lines  from  a  contemporary  poet, 
who  has  written  but  too  little — 

“The  knights  are  dust,2 
And  their  good  swords  are  rust, 

Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust.” 

Their  escutcheons  have  long  moldered  from  the  walls 

_ 

’The  manuscript  from  which  Scott  pretended  to  get  the 
details  of  his  story. 

2From  a  fragmentary  poem  by  Coleridge. 


Ivan  hoe 


111 


of  their  castles.  Their  castles  themselves  are  but 
;  green  mounds  and  shattered  ruins — the  place  that 
once  knew  them,  knows  them  no  more — nay,  many  a 
race  since  theirs  has  died  out  and  been  forgotten  in 
;  the  very  land  which  they  occupied,  with  all  the 
authority  of  feudal  proprietors  and  feudal  lords. 
What,  then,  would  it  avail  the  reader  to  know  their 
names,  or  the  evanescent  symbols  of  their  martial 
rank ! 

Now,  however,  no  whit  anticipating  the  oblivion 
which  awaited  their  names  and  feats,  the  champions 
advanced  through  the  lists,  restraining  their  fiery 
steeds  and  compelling  them  to  move  slowly,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  they  exhibited  their  paces,  together 
with  the  grace  and  dexterity  of  the  riders.  As  the 
procession  entered  the  lists,  the  sound  of  a  wild  Bar¬ 
baric  music  was  heard  from  behind  the  tents  of  the 
challengers  where  the  performers  were  concealed. 
It  was  of  Eastern  origin,  having  been  brought  from 
the  Holy  Land;  and  the  mixture  of  the  cymbals  and 
bells  seemed  to  bid  welcome  at  once,  and  defiance,  to 
the  knights  as  they  advanced.  With  the  eyes  of  an 
immense  concourse  of  spectators  fixed  upon  them,  the 
five  knights  advanced  up  the  platform  upon  which 
the  tents  of  the  challengers  stood,  and  there  separa¬ 
ting  themselves,  each  touched  slightly,  and  with  the 
reverse  of  his  lance,  the  shield  of  the  antagonist  to 
whom  he  wished  to  oppose  himself.  The  lower  order 
of  spectators  in  general— nay,  many  of  the  higher 
class,  and  it  is  even  said  several  of  the  ladies,  were 
rather  disappointed  at  the  champions  choosing  the 
arms  of  courtesy.  For  the  same  sort  of  persons,  who 
in  the  present  day  applaud  most  highly  the  deepest 
tragedies,  were  then  interested  in  a  tournament  ex¬ 
actly  in  proportion  to  the  danger  incurred  by  the 
champions  engaged. 

Having  intimated  their  more  specific  purpose,  the 


112 


Ivan  hoe 


champions  retreated  to  the  extremity  of  the  lists, 
where  they  remained  drawn  up  in  a  line;  while  the 
challengers,  sallying  each  from  his  pavilion,  mounted 
their  horses,  and,  headed  by  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert. 
descended  from  the  platform,  and  opposed  them¬ 
selves  individually  to  the  knights  who  had  touched 
their  respective  shields. 

At  the  flourish  of  clarions  and  trumpets,  they 
started  out  against  each  other  at  full  gallop;  and 
such  was  the  superior  dexterity  or  good  fortune  of 
the  challengers,  that  those  opposed  to  Bois-Guilbert, 
Malvoisin,  and  Front-de-Boeuf,  rolled  on  the  ground, 
The  antagonist  of  Grantmesnil,  instead  of  bearing 
his  lance-point  fair  against  the  crest  or  the  shield  of 
his  enemy,  swerved  so  much  from  the  direct  line  as 
to  break  the  weapon  athwart  the  person  of  his  op¬ 
ponent — a  circumstance  which  was  accounted  more 
disgraceful  than  that  of  being  actually  unhorsed ;  be¬ 
cause  the  latter  might  happen  from  accident,  where¬ 
as  the  former  evinced  awkwardness  and  want  of 
management  of  the  weapon  and  of  the  horse.  The 
fifth  knight  alone  maintained  the  honor  of  his  party, 
and  parted  fairly  with  the  Knight  of  St.  John,  both 
splintering  their  lances  without  advantage  on  either 
side. 

The  shouts  of  the  multitude,  together  with  the 
acclamations  of  the  heralds  and  the  clangor  of  the 
trumpets,  announced  the  triumph  of  the  victors  and 
the  defeat  of  the  vanquished.  The  former  retreated 
to  their  pavilions,  and  the  latter,  gathering  them¬ 
selves  up  as  they  could,  withdrew  from  the  lists  in 
disgrace  and  dejection,  to  agree  with  their  victors 
concerning  the  redemption  of  their  arms  and  their 
horses,  which,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  tourna¬ 
ment,  they  had  forfeited.  The  fifth  of  their  number 
alone  tarried  in  the  lists  long  enough  to  be  greeted 
by  the  applauses  of  the  spectators,  amongst  whom  he 


IVANHOE 


113 


retreated,  to  the  aggravation,  doubtless,  of  his  com¬ 
panions’  mortification. 

A  second  and  a  third  party  of  knights  took  the 
field;  and  although  they  had  various  success,  yet, 
upon  the  whole,  the  advantage  decidedly  remained 
with  the  challengers,  not  one  of  whom  lost  his  seat 
or  swerved  from  his  charge — misfortunes  which  be¬ 
fell  one  or  two  of  their  antagonists  in  each  encoun¬ 
ter.  The  spirits,  therefore,  of  those  opposed  to  them 
seemed  to  be  considerably  damped  by  their  continued 
success.  Three  knights  only  appeared  on  the  fourth 
entry,  who,  avoiding  the  shields  of  Bois-Guilbert  and 
Front-de-Bceuf,  contented  themselves  with  touching 
those  of  the  three  other  knights,  who  had  not  alto¬ 
gether  manifested  the  same  strength  and  dexterity. 
This  politic  selection  did  not  alter  the  fortune  of  the 
field,  the  challengers  were  still  successful ;  one  of 
their  antagonists  was  overthrown,  and  both  the  oth¬ 
ers  failed  in  the  attaint /  that  is,  striking  the  hel¬ 
met  and  shield  of  their  antagonist  firmly  and  strong¬ 
ly,  with  the  lance  held  in  a  direct  line,  so  that  the 
weapon  might  break  unless  the  champion  was  over¬ 
thrown. 

After  this  fourth  encounter,  there  was  a  consider¬ 
able  pause ;  nor  did  it  appear  that  any  one  was  very 
desirous  of  renewing  the  contest.  The  spectators 
murmured  among  themselves;  for,  among  the  chal¬ 
lengers,  Malvoisin  and  Front-de-Boeuf  were  unpopu¬ 
lar  from  their  characters,  and  the  others,  except 
Grantmesnil,  were  disliked  as  strangers  and  for¬ 
eigners. 

But  none  shared  the  general  feeling  of  dissatisfac¬ 
tion  so  keenly  as  Cedric  the  Saxon,  who  saw,  in  each 
advantage  gained  by  the  Norman  challengers,  a  re¬ 
peated  triumph  over  the  honor  of  England.  His 

^‘This  term  of  chivalry,  transferred  to  the  law,  gives  the 
phrase  of  being  attainted  of  treason.”  (Scott’s  note). 


114 


IVANIIOE 


own  education  had  taught  him  no  skill  in  the  games 
of  chivalry,  although,  with  the  arms  of  his  Saxon 
ancestors,  he  had  manifested  himself,  on  many  oc¬ 
casions,  a  brave  and  determined  soldier.  He  looked 
anxiously  to  Athelstane,  who  had  learned  the  accom¬ 
plishments  of  the  age,  as  if  desiring  that  he  should 
make  some  personal  effort  to  recover  the  victory 
which  was  passing  into  the  hands  of  the  Templar  and 
his  associates.  But,  though  both  stout  of  heart  and 
strong  of  person,  Athelstane  had  a  disposition  too 
inert  and  unambitious  to  make  the  exertions  which 
Cedric  seemed  to  expect  from  him. 

“The  day  is  against  England,  my  lord,”  said  Cedric 
in  a  marked  tone;  “are  you  not  tempted  to  take  the 
lance?” 

“I  shall  tilt  to-morrow,”  answered  Athelstane,  “in 
the  melee;  it  is  not  worth  while  for  me  to  arm  my¬ 
self  to-day.” 

Two  things  displeased  Cedric  in  this  speech.  It 
contained  the  Norman  word  melee  (to  express  the 
general  conflict),  and  it  evinced  some  indifference  to 
the  honor  of  the  country;  but  it  was  spoken  by  Athel¬ 
stane,  whom  he  held  in  such  profound  respect  that  he 
would  not  trust  himself  to  canvass  his  motives  or 
his  foibles.  Moreover,  he  had  no  time  to  make 
any  remark,  for  Wamba  thrust  in  his  word,  observ¬ 
ing,  “It  was  better,  though  scarce  easier,  to  be 
the  best  man  among  a  hundred,  than  the  best  man  of 
two.” 

Athelstane  took  the  observation  as  a  serious  com¬ 
pliment;  but  Cedric,  who  better  understood  the 
Jester’s  meaning,  darted  at  him  a  severe  and  men¬ 
acing  look;  and  lucky  it  was  for  Wamba,  perhaps, 
that  the  time  and  place  prevented  his  receiving,  not¬ 
withstanding  his  place  and  service,  more  sensible 
marks  of  his  master’s  resentment. 

The  pause  in  the  tournament  was  still  uninter- 


IVANHOE 


115 


rupted,  excepting  by  the  voices  of  the  heralds  ex¬ 
claiming — “Love  of  ladies,  splintering  of  lances! 
stand  forth,  gabant  knights,  fair  eyes  look  upon  your 
deeds!” 

The  music  also  of  the  challengers  breathed  from 
time  to  time  wild  bursts  expressive  of  triumph  or 
(defiance,  while  the  clowns  grudged  a  holiday  which 
seemed  to  pass  away  in  inactivity;  and  old  knights 
and  nobles  lamented  in  whispers  the  decay  of  martial 
spirit,  spoke  of  the  triumphs  of  their  younger  days, 
but  agreed  that  the  land  did  not  now  supply  dames 
of  such  transcendent  beauty  as  had  animated  the 
jousts  of  former  times.  Prince  John  began  to  talk 
to  his  attendants  about  making  ready  the  banquet, 
and  the  necessity  of  adjudging  the  prize  to  Brian 
!  do  Bois-Gilbert,  who  had,  with  a  single  spear,  over¬ 
thrown  two  knights,  and  foiled  a  third. 

At  length,  as  the  Saracenic  music  of  the  challen- 
gprr  concluded  one  of  those  long  and  high  flourishes 
with  which  they  had  broken  the  silence  of  the  list's,  it 
was  answered  by  a  solitary  trumpet,  which  breathed 
a  note  of  defiance  from  the  northern  extremity.  All 
eyes  were  turned  to  see  the  new  champion  which 
these  sounds  announced,  and  no  sooner  were  the  bar¬ 
riers  opened  than  he  paced  into  the  lists.  As  far  as 
could  be  judged  of  a  man  sheathed  in  armor,  the  new 
adventurer  did  not  greatly  exceed  the  middle  size, 
and  seemed  to  be  rather  slender  than  strongly  made. 
His  suit  of  armour  was  formed  of  steel,  richly  inlaid 
with  gold,  and  the  device  on  his  shield  was  a  young 
!  oak-tree  pulled  up  by  the  roots,  with  the  Spanish 
i  word  Desdichado ,  signifying  Disinherited.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  gallant  black  horse,  and  as  he  passed 
j  through  the  lists  he  gracefully  saluted  the  Prince 
|  and  the  ladies  by  lowering  his  lance.  The  dexterity 
I  with  which  he  managed  his  steed,  and  something  of 
youthful  grace  which  he  displayed  in  his  manner, 


116 


IVANHOB 


won  him  the  favor  of  the  multitude,  which  some  of 
the  lower  classes  expressed  by  calling  out,  ‘Touch 
Ralph  de  Vipont’s  shield — touch  the  Hospitaller’s 
shield;  he  has  the  least  sure  seat,  he  is  your  cheapest 
bargain.” 

The  champion,  moving  onward  amid  these  well- 
meant  hints,  ascended  the  platform  by  the  sloping 
alley  which  led  to  it  from  the  lists,  and,  to  the  aston¬ 
ishment  of  all  present,  riding  straight  up  to  the 
central  pavilion,  struck  with  the  sharp  end  of  his 
spear  the  shield  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  until  it 
rung  again.  All  stood  astonished  at  his  presumption, 
but  none  more  than  the  redoubted  knight  whom  he 
had  thus  defied  to  mortal  combat,  and  who,  little 
expecting  so  rude  a  challenge,  was  standing  careless¬ 
ly  at  the  door  of  the  pavilion. 

“Have  you  confessed  yourself,  brother,”  said  the 
Templar,  “and  have  you  heard  mass  this  morning, 
that  you  peril  your  life  so  frankly?” 

“I  am  fitter  to  meet  death  than  thou  art,”  an¬ 
swered  the  Disinherited  Knight;  for  by  this  name 
the  stranger  had  recorded  himself  in  the  books  of 
the  tourney. 

“Then  take  your  place  in  the  lists,”  said  Bois- 
Guilbert,  “and  look  your  last  upon  the  sun;  for  this 
night  thou  shalt  sleep  in  paradise.” 

“Gramercy  for  thy  courtesy,”  replied  the  Disin¬ 
herited  Knight,  “and  to  requite  it,  I  advise  thee 
to  take  a  fresh  horse  and  a  new  lance,  for  by  my 
honor  you  will  need  both.” 

Having  expressed  himself  thus  confidently,  he 
reined  his  horse  backward  down  the  slope  which  he 
had  ascended,  and  compelled  him  in  the  same  man¬ 
ner  to  move  backward  through  the  lists,  till  he 
reached  the  northern  extremity,  where  he  remained 
stationary,  in  expectation  of  his  antagonist.  This 

Question  :  What  vow  is  this  challenge  fulfilling? 


Ivan  hoe 


117 


:eat  of  horsemanship  again  attracted  the  applause 
)f  the  multitude. 

j  However  incensed  at  his  adversary  for  the  pre¬ 
cautions  which  he  recommended,  Brian  de  Bois- 
Guilbert  did  not  neglect  his  advice;  for  his  honor 
was  too  nearly  concerned,  to  permit  his  neglecting 
any  means  which  might  insure  victory  over  his  pre¬ 
sumptuous  opponent.  He  changed  his  horse  for  a 
proved  and  fresh  one  of  great  strength  and  spirit. 
He  chose  a  new  and  tough  spear,  lest  the  wood  of  the 
former  might  have  been  strained  in  the  previous  en¬ 
counters  he  had  sustained.  Lastly,  he  laid  aside  his 
shield,  which  had  received  some  little  damage,  and 
received  another  from  his  squires.  His  first  had  only 
borne  the  general  device  of  his  rider,  representing 
two  knights  riding  upon  one  horse,  an  emblem  ex¬ 
pressive  of  the  original  humility  and  poverty  of  the 
Templars,  qualities  which  they  had  since  exchanged 
for  the  arrogance  and  wealth  that  finally  occasioned 
their  suppression.  Bois-Guilbert’s  new  shield  bore 
a  raven  in  full  flight,  holding  in  its  claws  a  skull,  and 
bearing  the  motto,  Gave  le  Corbeau / 

When  the  two  champions  stood  opposed  to  each 
other  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  lists,  the  public 
expectation  was  strained  to  the  highest  pitch.  Few 
augured  the  possibility  that  the  encounter  could  ter¬ 
minate  well  for  the  Disinherited  Knight,  yet  his 
courage  and  gallantry  secured  the  general  good 
.wishes  of  the  spectators. 

The  trumpets  had  no  sooner  given  the  signal,  than 
the  champions  vanished  from  their  posts  with  the 
speed  of  lightning,  and  closed  in  the  center  of  the 
lists  with  the  shock  of  a  thunderbolt.  The  lances 
burst  into  shivers  up  to  the  very  grasp,  and  it  seemed 
at  the  moment  that  both  knights  had  fallen,  for  the 
shock  had  made  each  horse  recoil  backwards  upon 


*Beware  the  Raven, 


118 


IVANHOE 


its  haunches.  The  address  of  the  riders  recovered 
their  steeds  by  use  of  the  bridle  and  spur;  and  having 
glared  on  each  other  for  an  instant  with  eyes  which 
seemed  to  flash  fire  through  the  bars  of  their  visors, 
each  made  a  demi-volte,  and,  retiring  to  the  extrem¬ 
ity  of  the  lists,  received  a  fresh  lance  from  the  at¬ 
tendants. 

A  loud  shout  from  the  spectators,  waving  of  scarfs 
and  handkerchiefs,  and  general  acclamations  attested 
the  interest  taken  by  the  spectators  in  this  encoun¬ 
ter;  the  most  equal,  as  well  as  the  best  performed, 
which  had  graced  the  day.  But  no  sooner  had  the 
knights  resumed  their  station,  than  the  clamor  of  ap¬ 
plause  was  hushed  into  a  silence,  so  deep,  and  so 
dead  that  it  seemed  the  multitude  were  afraid  even 
to  breathe. 

A  few  minutes’  pause  having  been  allowed,  that 
the  combatants  and  their  horses  might  recover 
breath,  Prince  John  with  his  truncheon  signed  to  the 
trumpets  to  sound  the  onset.  The  champions  a 
second  time  sprung  from  their  stations,  and  closed 
in  the  center  of  the  lists,  with  the  same  speed,  the 
same  dexterity,  the  same  violence,  but  not  the  same 
equal  fortune  as  before. 

In  this  second  encounter,  the  Templar  aimed  at 
the  center  of  his  antagonist’s  shield,  and  struck  it  so 
fair  and  forcibly  that  his  spear  went  to  shivers,  and 
the  Disinherited  Knight  reeled  in  his  saddle.  On  the 
other  hand,  that  champion  had,  in  the  beginning  of 
his  career,  directed  the  point  of  his  lance  towards 
Bois-Guilbert’s  shield,  but,  changing  his  aim  almost 
in  the  moment  of  encounter,  he  addressed  it  to  the 
helmet,  a  mark  more  difficult  to  hit,  but  which,  if 
attained,  rendered  the  shock  more  irresistible.  Fair 
and  true  he  hit  the  Norman  on  the  visor,  where  his 
lance’s  point  kept  hold  of  the  bars.  Yet  even  at  this 
disadvantage,  the  Templar  sustained  his  high  repu- 


IVANHOE  119 

Station;  and  had  not  the  girths  of  his  saddle  burst, 
he  might  not  have  been  unhorsed.  As  it  chanced, 
‘however,  saddle,  horse,  and  man  rolled  on  the  ground 
under  a  cloud  of  dust. 

To  extricate  himself  from  the  stirrups  and  fallen 
steed,  was  to  the  Templar  scarce  the  work  of  a  mo¬ 
ment;  and,  stung  with  madness,  both  at  his  dis¬ 
grace  and  at  the  acclamations  with  which  it  was 
|  hailed  by  the  spectators,  he  drew  his  sword  and 
waved  it  in  defiance  of  his  conqueror.  The  Dis¬ 
inherited  Knight  sprung  from  his  steed,  and  also 
unsheathed  his  sword.  The  marshals  of  the  field, 

!  however,  spurred  their  horses  between  them,  and  re¬ 
minded  them  that  the  laws  of  the  tournament  did 
not  on  the  present  occasion,  permit  this  species  of 
encounter. 

“We  shall  meet  again,  I  trust,”  said  the  Templar, 
casting  a  resentful  glance  at  his  antagonist;  “and 
where  there  are  none  to  separate  us.” 

“If  we  do  not,”  said  the  Disinherited  Knight, 
“the  fault  shall  not  be  mine.  On  foot  or  horseback, 
with  spear,  with  ax,  or  with  sword,  I  am  alike  ready 
to  encounter  thee.” 

More  and  angrier  words  would  have  been  ex¬ 
changed,  but  the  marshals,  crossing  their  lances  be- 
I  twixt  them,  compelled  them  to  separate.  The  Disin¬ 
herited  Knight  returned  to  his  first  station,  and  Bois- 
Guilbert  to  his  tent,  where  he  remained  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  an  agony  of  despair. 

Without  alighting  from  his  horse,  the  conqueror 
called  for  a  bowl  of  wine,  and  opening  the  beaver 
i  or  lower  part  of  his  helmet,  announced  that  he 
quaffed  it  “To  all  true  English  hearts,  and  to  the 
confusion  of  foreign  tyrants.”  He  then  commanded 
his  trumpet  to  sound  a  defiance  to  the  challengers, 
and  desired  a  herald  to  announce  to  them  that  he 
should  make  no  election,  but  was  willing  to  en- 


120 


Ivan  hoe 


counter  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  pleased  to 
advance  against  him. 

The  gigantic  Front-de-Boeuf,1  armed  in  sable  armor, 
was  the  first  who  took  the  field.  He  bore  on 
a  white  shield  a  black  bull’s  head,  half  defaced  by 
the  numerous  encounters  which  he  had  undergone, 
and  bearing  the  arrogant  motto,  Cave  Adsum .2  Over 
this  champion  the  Disinherited  Knight  obtained 
a  slight  but  decisive  advantage.  Both  knights  broke 
their  lances  fairly,  but  Front-de-Bceuf,  who  lost  a 
stirrup  in  the  encounter,  was  adjudged  to  have  the 
disadvantage. 

In  the  stranger’s  third  encounter,  with  Sir  Philip 
Mialvoisin,  he  was  equally  successful,  striking  that 
baron  so  forcibly  on  the  casque  that  the  laces  of  the 
helmet  broke,  and  Malvoisin,  only  saved  from  falling 
by  being  unhelmeted/was  declared  vanquished  like 
his  companions. 

In  his  fourth  combat,  with  De  Grantmesnil,  the 
Disinherited  Knight  showed  as  much  courtesy  as 
he  had  hitherto  evinced  courage  and  dexterity. 
De  Grantmesnil’s  horse,  which  was  young  and  vio¬ 
lent,  reared  and  plunged  in  the  course  of  the  career 
so  as  to  disturb  the  rider’s  aim,  and  the  stranger, 
declining  to  take  the  advantage  which  this  accident 
afforded  him,  raised  his  lance  and  passing  his  an¬ 
tagonist  without  touching  him,  wheeled  his  horse 
and  rode  back  again  to  his  own  end  of  the  lists,  offer¬ 
ing  his  antagonist,  by  a  herald,  the  chance  of  a  sec¬ 
ond  encounter.  This  De  Grantmesnil  declined  ^vow¬ 
ing  himself  vanquished  as  much  by  the  courtesy  as 
by  the  address  of  his  opponent. 

Ralph  de  Vipont  summed  up  the  list  of  the  stran¬ 
ger’s  triumphs,  being  hurled  to  the  ground  with  such 


'Head  of  the  bull  (literally). 
'Beware!  I  aiu  present. 


IVANHOE 


121 


force  that  the  blood  gushed  from  his  nose  and  mouth, 
and  he  was  borne  senseless  from  the  lists. 

The  acclamations  of  thousands  applauded  the 
unanimous  award  of  the  Prince  and  marshals,  an¬ 
nouncing  that  day’s  honors  to  the  Disinherited 
Knight. 


CHAPTER  IX 


- In  the  midst  was  seen 

A  lady  of  a  more  majestic  mien, 

By  stature  and  by  beauty  mark’d  their  sovereign  Queen. 

*  *  * 

And  as  in  beauty  she  surpass’d  the  choir, 

So  nobler  than  the  rest  was  her  attire ; 

A  crown  of  ruddy  gold  enclosed  her  brow, 

Plain  without  pomp,  and  rich  without  a  show; 

A  branch  of  Agnus  Castus  in  her  hand, 

She  bore  aloft  her  symbol  of  command. 

The  Flower  and  the  Leaf. 

William  de  Wyvil  and  Stephen  de  Martival,  the 
marshals  of  the  field,  were  the  first  to  offer  their  con¬ 
gratulations  to  the  victor,  praying  him,  at  the  same 
time,  to  suffer  his  helmet  to  be  unlaced,  or,  at  least, 
that  he  would  raise  his  visor  ere  they  conducted  him 
to  receive  the  prize  of  the  day’s  tourney  from  the 
hands  of  Prince  John.  The  Disinherited  Knight, 
with  all  knightly  courtesy,  declined  their  request, 
alleging  that  he  could  not  at  this  time  suffer  his  face 
to  be  seen,  for  reasons  which  he  had  assigned  to  the 
heralds  when  he  entered  the  lists.  The  marshals 
were  perfectly  satisfied  by  this  reply;  for  amidst 
the  frequent  and  capricious  vows  by  which  knights 
were  accustomed  to  bind  themselves  in  the  days  of 
chivalry,  there  were  none  more  common  than  those 
by  which  they  engaged  to  remain  incognito  for  a  cer¬ 
tain  space,  or  until  some  particular  adventure  was 
achieved.  The  marshals,  therefore,  pressed  no  far¬ 
ther  into  the  mystery  of  the  Disinherited  Knight,  but, 
announcing  to  Prince  John  the  conqueror’s  desire  to 
remain  unknown,  they  requested  permission  to  bring 
him  before  his  Grace,  in  order  that  he  might  receive 
the  reward  of  his  valor. 

John’s  curiosity  was  excited  by  the  mystery  ob- 


IVANHOE 


123 


served  by  the  stranger;  and,  being  already  displeased 
with  the  issue  of  the  tournament,  in  which  the  chal¬ 
lengers  whom  he  favored  had  been  successively  de¬ 
feated  by  one  knight,  he  answered  haughtily  to  the 
marshals : 

“By  the  light  of  Our  Lady’s  brow,1  this  same 
knight  hath  been  disinherited  as  well  of  his  courtesy 
as  of  his  lands,  since  he  desires  to  appear  before  us 
without  uncovering  his  face. — Wot  ye,2  my  lords,”  he 
said,  turning  round  to  his  train,  “who  this  gallant 
can  be,  that  bears  himself  thus  proudly?” 

“I  cannot  guess/’  answered  De  Bracy,  “nor  did 
I  think  there  had  been  within  the  four  seas  that 
girth  Britain  a  champion  that  could  bear  down  these 
five  knights  in  one  day’s  jousting.  By  my  faith,  I 
shall  never  forget  the  force  with  which  he  shocked 
De  Vipont.  The  poor  Hospitaller  was  hurled  from 
his  saddle  like  a  stone  from  a  sling.” 

“Boast  not  of  that,”  said  a  Knight  of  St.  John, 
who  was  present;  “your  Temple  champion  had  no 
better  luck.  I  saw  your  brave  lance,  Bois-Guilbert, 
roll  thrice  over,  grasping  his  hands  full  of  sand  at 
every  turn.” 

De  Bracy  being  attached  to  the  Templars,  would 
have  replied,  but  was  prevented  by  Prince  John. 

“Silence,  sirs!”  he  said;  “what  unprofitable  de¬ 
bate  have  we  here?” 

“The  victor,”  said  De  Wyvil,  “still  waits  the  pleas¬ 
ure  of  your  Highness.” 

“It  is  our  pleasure,”  answered  John,  “that  he  do 
so  wait  until  we  learn  whether  there  is  not  some  one 
who  can  at  least  guess  at  his  name  and  quality. 
Should  he  remain  there  till  nightfall,  he  has  had 
enough  work  to  keep  him  warm.” 


Virgin  Mary. 

2Know  ye. 


124 


Ivan  hoe 


“Your  Grace,”  said  Waldemar  Fitzurse,  “will  do 
less  than  due  honor  to  the  victor,  if  you  compel  him 
to  wait  till  we  tell  your  Highness  that  which  we 
cannot  know;  at  least  I  can  form  no  guess — unless  he 
be  one  of  the  good  lances  who  accompanied  King 
Richard  of  Palestine,  and  who  are  now  straggling 
homeward  from  the  Holy  Land.” 

“It  may  be  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,”  said  De  Bracy; 
“he  is  about  the  same  pitch.” 

“Sir  Thomas  de  Multon,  the  Knight  of  Gilsland, 
rather,”  said  Fitzurse;  “Salisbury  is  bigger  in  the 
bones.”  A  whisper  arose  among  the  train,  but  by 
whom  first  suggested  could  not  be  ascertained.  “It 
might  be  the  King — it  might  be  Richard  Cceur-de- 
Lion  himself!” 

“Over  God’s  forbode!”  said  Prince  John,  involun¬ 
tarily  turning  at  the  same  time  as  pale  as  death, 
and  shrinking  as  if  blighted  by  a  flash  of  lightning; 
“Waldemar! — De  Bracy!  brave  knights  and  gentle¬ 
men,  remember  your  promises,  and  stand  truly  by 
me!” 

“Here  is  no  danger  impending,”  said  Waldemar 
Fitzurse;  “are  you  so  little  acquainted  with  the 
gigantic  limbs  of  your  father’s  son  as  to  think  they 
can  be  held  within  the  circumference  of  yonder  suit 
of  armor? — De  Wyvil  and  Martival,  you  will  best 
serve  the  Prince  by  bringing  forward  the  victor  to 
the  throne,  and  ending  an  error  that  has  conjured 
all  the  blood  from  his  cheeks. — Look  at  him  more 
closely,”  he  continued;  “your  Highness  will  see  that 
he  wants  three  inches  of  King  Richard’s  height  and 
twice  as  much  of  his  shoulder-breadth.  The  very 
horse  he  backs  could  not  have  carried  the  ponderous 
weight  of  King  Richard  through  a  single  course.” 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  marshals  brought 
forward  the  Disinherited  Knight  to  the  foot  of  a 
wooden  flight  of  steps,  which  formed  the  ascent 


IVANHOE 


125 


from  the  lists  to  Prince  John’s  throne.  Still  dis¬ 
composed  with  the  idea  that  his  brother,  so  much 
injured,  and  to  whom  he  was  so  much  indebted, 
had  suddenly  arrived  in  his  native  kingdom,  even 
the  distinctions  pointed  out  by  Fitzurse  did  not 
altogether  remove  the  Prince’s  apprehensions;  and 
while,  with  a  short  and  embarrassed  eulogy  upon 
his  valor,  he  caused  to  be  delivered  to  him  the  war- 
horse  assigned  as  the  prize,  he  trembled  lest  from  the 
barred  visor  of  the  mailed  form  before  him  an  an¬ 
swer  might  be  returned,  in  the  deep  and  awful  ac¬ 
cents  of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted. 

But  the  Disinherited  Knight  spoke  not  a  word  in 
reply  to  the  compliment  of  the  Prince,  which  he 
only  acknowledged  with  a  profound  obeisance. 

The  horse  was  led  into  the  lists  by  two  grooms 
richly  dressed,  the  animal  itself  being  fully  accou¬ 
tered  with  the  richest  war-furniture;  which,  how¬ 
ever,  scarcely  added  to  the  value  of  the  noble  crea¬ 
ture  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  were  judges.  Laying 
one  hand  upon  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  the  Disin¬ 
herited  Knight  vaulted  at  once  upon  the  back  of  the 
steed  without  making  use  of  the  stirrup,  and  brand¬ 
ishing  aloft  his  lance,  rode  twice  around  the  lists,  ex¬ 
hibiting  the  points  and  paces  of  the  horse  with  the 
skill  of  a  perfect  horseman. 

The  appearance  of  vanity,  which  might  otherwise 
have  been  attributed  to  this  display,  was  removed  by 
the  propriety  shown  in  exhibiting  to  the  best  advan¬ 
tage  the  princely  reward  with  which  he  had  been  just 
honored,  and  the  Knight  was  again  greeted  by  the 
acclamations  of  all  present. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  bustling  Prior  of  Jorvaulx 
had  reminded  Prince  John,  in  a  whisper,  that  the 
victor  must  now  display  his  good  judgment,  instead 
of  his  valor,  by  selecting  from  among  the  beauties 
who  graced  the  galleries  a  lady,  who  should  fill  the 


126 


Ivan  hoe 


throne  of  the  Queen  of  Beauty  and  of  Love,  and  de¬ 
liver  the  prize  of  the  tourney  upon  the  ensuing  day. 
The  Prince  accordingly  made  a  sign  with  his  trunch¬ 
eon,  as  the  Knight  passed  him  in  his  second  career 
round  the  lists.  The  Knight  turned  towards  the 
throne,  and,  sinking  his  lance,  until  the  point  was 
within  a  foot  of  the  ground,  remained  motionless,  as 
if  expecting  John’s  command:  while  all  admired  the 
sudden  dexterity  with  which  he  instantly  reduced  his 
fiery  steed  from  a  state  of  violent  emotion  and  high 
excitation  to  the  stillness  of  an  equestrian  statue. 

“Sir  Disinherited  Knight,”  said  Prince  John, 
“since  that  is  the  only  title  by  which  we  can  address 
you,  it  is  now  your  duty,  as  well  as  privilege,  to  name 
the  fair  lady,  who,  as  Queen  of  Honor  and  of  Love, 
is  to  preside  over  next  day’s  festival.  If,  as  a 
stranger  in  our  land,  you  should  require  the  aid  of 
other  judgment  to  guide  your  own,  we  can  only  say 
that  Alicia,  the  daughter  of  our  gallant  knight  Wal- 
demar  Fitzurse,  has  at  our  court  been  long  held  the 
first  in  beauty  as  in  place.  Nevertheless,  it  is  your 
undoubted  prerogative  to  confer  on  whom  you  please 
this  crown,  by  the  delivery  of  which  to  the  lady  of 
your  choice,  the  election  of  to-morrow’s  Queen  will 
be  formal  and  complete. — Raise  your  lance.” 

The  Knight  obeyed;  and  Prince  John  placed  upon 
its  point  a  coronet  of  green  satin,  having  around  its 
edge  a  circle  of  gold,  the  upper  edge  of  which  was 
relieved  by  arrow-points  and  hearts  placed  inter¬ 
changeably,  like  the  strawberry  leaves  and  balls  upon 
a  ducal  crown. 

In  the  broad  hint  which  he  dropped  respecting  the 
daughter  of  Waldemar  Fitzurse,  John  had  more  than 
one  motive,  each  the  offspring  of  a  mind  which  was  a 
strange  mixture  of  carelessness  and  presumption 
with  low  artifice  and  cunning.  He  wished  to  banish 
from  the  minds  of  the  chivalry  around  him  his  own 


IVANHOE 


127 


■  # 

^indecent  and  unacceptable  jest  respecting  the  Jewess 
Rebecca;  he  was  desirous  of  conciliating  Alicia’s 
father  Waldemar,  of  whom  he  stood  in  awe,  and  who 
had  more  than  once  shown  himself  dissatisfied  dur¬ 
ing  the  course  of  the  day’s  proceedings.  He  had  also 
a  wish  to  establish  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  the 
lady;  for  John  was  at  least  as  licentious  in  his 
!  pleasures  as  profligate  in  his  ambition.  But  besides 
j  all  these  reasons  he  was  desirous  to  raise  up  against 
the  Disinherited  Knight  (towards  whom  he  already 
entertained  a  strong  dislike)  a  powerful  enemy  in 
the  person  of  Waldemar  Fitzurse,  who  was  likely, 
he  thought,  highly  to  resent  the  injury  done  to  his 
daughter,  in  case,  as  was  not  unlikely,  the  victor 
should  make  another  choice. 

And  so  indeed  it  proved.  For  the  Disinherited 
Knight  passed  the  gallery  close  to  that  of  the  Prince, 
in  which  the  Lady  Alicia  was  seated  in  the  full  pride 
of  triumphant  beauty,  and,  pacing  forwards  as  slow¬ 
ly  as  he  had  hitherto  rode  swiftly  around  the  lists, 

!  he  seemed  to  exercise  his  right  of  examining  the 
|  numerous  fair  faces  which  adorned  that  splendid 
circle. 

It  was  worth  while  to  see  the  different  conduct  of 
|  the  beauties  who  underwent  tjlis  examination.,  during 
I  the  time  it  was  proceeding.  Some  blushed,  some 
assumed  an  air  of  pride  and  dignity,  some  looked 
straight  forward,  and  essayed  to  seem  utterly  uncon¬ 
scious  of  what  was  going  on,  some  drew  back  in 
alarm,  which  was  perhaps  affected,  some  endeavored 
to  forbear  smiling,  and  there  were  two  or  three  who 
laughed  outright.  There  were  also  some  who 
dropped  their  veils  over  their  charms,  but  as  the 
Wardour  Manuscript  says  these  fair  ones  of  ten 
years’  standing,  it  may  be  supposed  that,  having  had 
their  full  share  of  such  vanities,  they  were  willing 


128 


Ivan  hoe 


to  withdraw  their  claim,  in  order  to  give  a  fair 
chance  to  the  rising  beauties  of  the  age. 

At  length  the  champion  paused  beneath  the  bal¬ 
cony  in  which  the  Lady  Rowena  was  placed,  and 
the  expectation  of  the  spectators  was  excited  to  the 
utmost. 

It  must  be  owned,  that  if  an  interest  displayed  in 
his  success  could  have  bribed  the  Disinherited 
Knight,  the  part  of  the  list  before  which  he  paused 
had  merited  his  predilection.  Cedric  the  Saxon,  over¬ 
joyed  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  Templar,  and  still 
more  so  at  the  miscarriage  of  his  two  malevolent 
neighbors,  Front-de-Boeuf  and  Malvoisin,  had,  with 
his  body  half  stretched  over  the  balcony,  accompa¬ 
nied  the  victor  in  each  course,  not  with  his  eyes  only, 
but  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul.  The  Lady  Rowena 
had  watched  the  progress  of  the  day  with  equal  at¬ 
tention,  though  without  openly  betraying  the  same 
intense  interest.  Even  the  unmoved  Athelstane  had 
shown  symptoms  of  shaking  off  his  apathy,  when, 
calling  for  a  huge  goblet  of  Muscadine,  he  quaffed  it 
to  the  health  of  the  Disinherited  Knight. 

Another  group,  stationed  under  the  gallery  oc¬ 
cupied  by  the  Saxons,  had  shown  no  less  interest  in 
the  fate  of  the  day.  « 

“Father  Abraham!”  said  Isaac  of  York,  when  the 
first  course  was  run  betwixt  the  Templar  and  the 
Disinherited  Knight.  “How  fiercely  that  Gentile 
rides!  Ah,  the  good  horse  that  was  brought  all  the 
long  way  from  Barbary,  he  takes  no  more  care  of  him 
than  if  he  were  a  wild  ass’s  colt— and  the  noble 
armor,  that  was  worth  so  many  zecchins  to  Joseph 
Pareira,  the  armorer  of  Milan,  besides  seventy  in  the 
hundred  of  profits,  he  cares  for  it  as  little  as  if  he 
had  found  it  in  the  highways!” 

“If  he  risks  his  own  person  and  limbs,  father,” 


IVANHOE 


129 


said  Rebecca,  “in  doing  such  a  dreadful  battle,  he 
can  scarce  be  expected  to  spare  his  horse  and  armor  ” 

“Child !”  replied  Isaac,  somewhat  heated,  “thou 
knowest  not  what  thou  speakest. — His  neck  and  limbs 
are  his  own,  but  his  horse  and  armour  belong  to — - 
Holy  Jacob!  what  was  I  about  to  say! — Nevertheless, 
it  is  a  good  youth. — See,  Rebecca!  see,  he  is  again 
!  about  to  go  up  to  battle  against  the  Philistine.1  Pray, 
child— pray  for  the  safety  of  the  good  youth,—  and 
of  the  speedy  horse,  and  the  rich  armor. — God  of 
my  fathers!”  he  again  exclaimed,  “he  hath  con¬ 
quered,  and  the  uncircumcised  Philistine  hath  fallen 
before  his  lance,— even  as  Og,2  the  King  of  Bashan, 
and  Sihon,  King  of  the  Amorites,  fell  before  the 
sword  of  our  fathers! — Surely  he  shall  take  their 
gold  and  their  silver,  and  their  war-horses,  and 
their  armor  of  brass  and  of  steel,  for  a  prey  and 
for  a  spoil.” 

The  same  anxiety  did  the  worthv  Jew  display  dur¬ 
ing  every  course  that  was  run,  seldom  failing  to  haz¬ 
ard  a  hasty  calculation  concerning  the  value  of  the 
horse  and  armor  which  were  forfeited  to  the  cham¬ 
pion  upon  each  new  success.  There  had  been  there¬ 
fore  no  small  interest  taken  in  the  success  of  the 
Disinherited  Knight,  by  those  who  occupied  the  part 
of  the  lists  before  which  he  now  paused. 

Whether  from  indecision  or  some  other  motive 
of  hesitation,  the  champion  of  the  day  remained  sta- 
tionarv  for  more  than  a  minute,  while  the  eyes  of 
the  silent  audience  was  riveted  upon  his  motions; 
and  then,  gradually  and  gracefully  sinking  the  point 
of  his  lance,  he  deposited  the  coronet  which  it  sup- 


1  Always  an  enemy  of  the  Jew  in  Palestine  in  Bible  times. 

2King  of  Bashan.  Numbers  XXI.  21-35  ;  Dent.  Ill,  1-13. 
Question  :  Why  was  Isaac  especially  interested  in  the 
conduct  of  the  Disinherited  Knight? 


130 


IVANHOE 


ported  at  the  feet  of  the  fair  Rowena.  The  trumpets 
instantly  sounded,  while  the  heralds  proclaimed  the 
Lady  Rowena  the  Queen  of  Beauty  and  of  Love  for 
the  ensuing  day,  menacing  with  suitable  penalties 
those  who  should  be  disobedient  to  her  authority. 
They  then  repeated  the  cry  of  Largesse,  to  which 
Cedric,  in  the  height  of  his  joy,  replied  by  an  am¬ 
ple  donative,  and  to  which  Athelstane,  though  less 
promptly,  added  one  equally  large. 

There  was  some  murmuring  among  the  damsels  of 
Norman  descent,  who  were  as  much  unused  to  see 
the  preference  given  to  a  Saxon  beauty  as  the  Nor¬ 
man  nobles  were  to  sustain  defeat  in  the  games  of 
chivalry  which  they  themselves  had  introduced.  But 
these  sounds  of  disaffection  were  drowned  by  the 
popular  shout  of  “Long  live  the  Lady  Rowena,  the 
chosen  and  lawful  Queen  of  Love  and  of  Beauty!’5 
To  which  many  in  the  lower  area  added,  “Long  live 
the  Saxon  Princess!  long  live  the  race  of  the  im¬ 
mortal  Alfred!” 

However  unacceptable  these  sounds  might  be  to 
Prince  John,  and  to  those  around  him,  he  saw  him¬ 
self  nevertheless  obliged  to  confirm  the  nomination 
of  the  victor,  and  accordingly  calling  to  horse,  he 
left  his  throne;  and  mounting  his  jennet,  accompa¬ 
nied  by  his  train,  he  again  entered  the  lists.  The 
Prince  paused  a  moment  beneath  the  gallery  of  Lady 
Alicia,  to  whom  he  paid  his  compliments  observing 
at  the  same  time,  to  those  around  him — “By  my  hali 
dom,  sirs !  if  the  Knight’s  feats  in  arms  have  showr 
that  he  hath  limbs  and  sinews,  his  choice  hath  nc 
less  proved  that  his  eyes  are  none  of  the  clearest!” 

It  was  on  this  occasion,  as  during  his  whole  life 
John’s  misfortune,  not  perfectly  to  understand  the 
characters  of  those  whom  he  wished  to  conciliate 
Waldemar  Fitzurse  was  rather  offended  than  pleasec 


IVANHOE 


131 


at  the  Prince  stating  thus  broadly  an  opinion  that 
his  daughter  had  been  slighted. 

“I  know  no  right  of  chivalry,”  he  said,  “more 
precious  or  inalienable  than  that  of  each  free  knight 
jto  choose  his  ladylove  by  his  own  judgment.  My 
daughter  courts  distinction  from  no  one;  and  in  her 
own  character,  and  in  her  own  sphere,  will  never  fail 
to  receive  the  full  proportion  of  that  which  is  her 
due.” 

Prince  John  replied  not;  but,  spurring  his  horse, 
as  if  to  give  vent  to  his  vexation,  he  made  the  animal 
bound  forward  to  the  gallery  where  Rowena  was 
seated,  with  the  crown  still  at  her  feet. 

“Assume,”  he  said,  “fair  lady,  the  mark  of  your 
Sovereignty,  to  which  none  vows  homage  more  sin¬ 
cerely  than  ourself,  John  of  Anjou ;  and  if  it  please 
>mu  to-day,  with  your  noble  sire  and  friends,  to  grace 
our  banquet  in  the  Castle  of  Ashby,  we  shall  learn  to 
know  the  empress  to  whose  service  we  devote  to¬ 
morrow.” 

Rowena  remained  silent,  and  Cedric  answered  for 
her  in  his  native  Saxon. 

“The  Lady  Rowena,”  he  said,  “possesses  not  the 
language  in  which  to  reply  to  your  courtesy,  or  to 
sustain  her  part  in  your  festival.  I  also,  and  the 
noble  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh,  speak  only  the 
language,  and  practice  only  the  manners,  of  our 
fathers.  We  therefore  decline  with  thanks  your 
Highness’s  courteous  invitation  to  the  banquet.  To¬ 
morrow,  the  Lady  Rowena  will  take  upon  her  the 
state  to  which  she  has  been  called  by  the  free  elec¬ 
tion  of  the  victor  Knight  confirmed  by  the  acclama¬ 
tions  of  the  people.” 

So  saying,  he  lifted  the  coronet,  and  placed  it  upon 
Rowena’s  head,  in  token  of  her  acceptance  of  the 
temporary  authority  assigned  to  her. 

“What  says  he?”  said  Prince  John,  affecting  not 


132 


Ivan  hoe 


to  understand  the  Saxon  language,  in  which,  howev 
er,  he  was  well  skilled.  The  purport  of  Cedric’ 
speech  was  repeated  to  him  in  French.  “It  is  well, 
he  said ;  “to-morrow  we  will  ourself  conduct  thi 
mute  sovereign  to  her  seat  of  dignity. — You,  at  leasl 
Sir  Knight,”  he  added,  turning  to  the  victor,  who  hai 
remained  near  the  gallery,  “will  this  day  share  ou 
banquet?” 

The  Knight,  speaking  for  the  first  time,  in  a  lo^ 
and  hurried  voice,  excused  himself  by  pleading  fa 
tigue,  and  the  necessity  of  preparing  for  to-moi 
row’s  encounter. 

“It  is  well,”  said  Prince  John,  haughtily;  “althoug 
unused  to  such  refusals,  we  will  endeavor  to  diges 
our  banquet  as  we  may,  though  ungraced  by  the  mos 
successful  in  arms,  and  his  elected  Queen  of  Beauty. 

So  saying,  he  prepared  to  leave  the  lists  with  hi 
glittering  train,  and  his,  turning  his  steed  for  tha 
purpose,  was  the  signal  for  the  breaking  up  an 
dispersion  of  the  spectators. 

Yet,  with  the  vindictive  memory  proper  to  o: 
fended  pride,  especially  when  combined  with  consc 
ous  want  of  desert,  John  had  hardly  proceeded  thre 
paces,  ere  again,  turning  around,  he  fixed  an  eye  c 
stern  resentment  upon  the  yeoman  who  had  di: 
pleased  him  in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  and  issue 
his  commands  to  the  men-at-arms  who  stood  near.- 
“On  your  life,  suffer  not  that  fellow  to  escape.” 

The  yeoman  stood  the  angry  glance  of  the  Princ 
with  the  same  unvaried  steadiness  which  had  marke 
his  former  deportment  saying,  with  a  smile,  “I  ha^ 
no  intention  to  leave  Ashby  until  the  day  after  t 
morrow. — I  must  see  how  Staffordshire  and  Leice 
tershire  can  draw  their  bows — the  forests  of  Nee 
wood  and  Charnwood  must  rear  good  archers.” 

“I,”  said  Prince  John  to  his  attendants,  but  n 
in  direct  reply,  “I  will  see  how  he  can  draw  h 


I 


IVANHOE 


IBS 


wn;  and  woe  betide  him  unless  his  skill  should 
^rove  some  apology  for  his  insolence  V* 

|  “It  is  full  time/’  said  De  Bracy,  “that  the  out - 
\ecuidance 1  of  these  peasants  should  be  restrained 
>y  some  striking  example.” 

Waldemar  Fitzurse,  who  probably  thought  his  pa- 
ron  was  not  taking  the  readiest  road  to  popularity, 
hrugged  up  his  shoulders  and  was  silent.  Prince 
ohn  resumed  his  retreat  from  the  lists,  and  the 
lispersion  of  the  multitude  became  general. 

In  various  routes,  according  to  the  different  quar- 
ers  from  which  they  came,  and  in  groups  of  vari¬ 
ous  numbers,  the  spectators  were  seen  retiring  over 
he  plain.  By  far  the  most  numerous  part  streamed 
owards  the  town  of  Ashby,  where  many  of  the  dis- 
inguished  persons  were  lodged  in  the  castle,  and 
vhere  others  found  accommodation  in  the  town  it¬ 
self.  Among  these  were  most  of  the  knights  who 
lad  already  appeared  in  the  tournament,  or  who 
moposed  to  fight  there  the  ensuing  day,  and  who, 
is  they  rode  slowly  along,  talking  over  the  events 
)f  the  day,  were  greeted  with  loud  shouts  by  the 
mpulace.  The  same  acclamations  were  bestowed  up- 
>n  Prince  John,  although  he  was  indebted  for  them 
•ather  to  the  splendor  of  his  appearance  and  train 
,han  to  the  popularity  of  his  character. 

A  more  sincere  and  more  general  as  well  as  a 
3etter-merited  acclamation,  attended  the  victor  of 
the  day,  until,  anxious  to  withdraw  himself  from 
popular  notice,  he  accepted  the  accommodation  of 
Dne  of  those  pavilions  pitched  at  the  extremities  of 
the  lists,  the  use  of  which  was  courteously  tendered 
him  by  the  marshals  of  the  field.  On  his.  retiring  to 
his  tent,  many  who  had  lingered  in  the  lists,  to  look 


“Presumption  ;  Insolence” — Scott. 


134 


Ivan  hoe 


upon  and  form  conjectures  concerning  him,  also  dis¬ 
persed. 

The  signs  and  sounds  of  a  tumultuous  concourse 
of  men  lately  crowded  together  in  one  place,  and 
agitated  by  the  same  passing  events,  were  now  ex¬ 
changed  for  the  distant  hum  of  voices  of  different 
groups  retreating  in  all  directions,  and  these  speed¬ 
ily  died  away  in  silence.  No  other  sounds  were  heard 
save  the  voices  of  the  menials  who  stripped  the  gal¬ 
leries  of  their  cushions  and  tapestry,  in  order  to  put 
them  in  safety  for  the  night,  and  wrangled  among 
themselves  for  the  half-used  bottles  of  wine  and 
relics  of  the  refreshment  which  had  been  served 
round  to  the  spectators. 

Beyond  the  precincts  of  the  lists  more  .than  one , 
forge  was  erected;  and  these  now  began  to  glimmer 
through  the  twilight,  announcing  the  toil  of  the  ar¬ 
morers,  which  was  to  continue  through  the  whole 
night  in  order  to  repair  or  alter  the  suits  of  armor  to 
be  used  again  on  the  morrow. 

A  strong  guard  of  men-at-arms,  renewed  at  in¬ 
tervals,  from  two  hours  to  two  hours,  surrounded 
the  lists,  and  kept  watch  during  the  night. 


CHAPTER  X 


Thus,  like  the  sad  presaging  raven,  that  tolls 
The  sick  man’s  passport  in  her  hollow  beak, 

And  in  the  shadow  of  the  silent  night 
Doth  shake  contagion  from  her  sable  wings ; 

Vex’d  and  tormented,  runs  poor  Barabbas, 

!With  fatal  curses  towards  these  Christians, 

Jew  of  Malta. 

The  Disinherited  Knight  had  no  sooner  reached 
iis  pavilion  than  squires  and  pages  in  abundance 
eridered  their  services  to  disarm  him,  to  bring  fresh 
ittire,  and  to  offer  him  the  refreshment  of  the  bath. 
Their  zeal,  on  this  occasion,  was  perhaps  sharpened 
>y  curiosity,  since  every  one  desired  to  know  who  the 
[night  was  that  had  gained  so  many  laurels,  yet  had 
*efused,  even  at  the  command  of  Prince  John,  to 
ift  his  visor  or  to  name  his  name.  But  their  officious 
nquisitiveness  was  not  gratified.  The  Disinherited 
Cnight  refused  all  other  assistance  save  that  of  his 
»wn  squire,  or  rather  yeoman — a  clownish-looking 
nan,  who,  wrapt  in  a  cloak  of  dark-colored  felt,  and 
laving  his  head  and  face  half-buried  in  a  Norman 
jonnet  made  of  black  fur,  seemed  to  affect  the  incog- 
lito  as  much  as  his  master.  All  others  being  ex¬ 
cluded  from  the  tent,  this  attendant  relieved  his 
naster  from  the  more  burdensome  parts  of  his  ar- 
nor,  and  placed  food  and  wine  before  him,  which  the 
exertions  of  the  day  rendered  very  acceptable. 

The  Knight  had  scarcely  finished  a  hasty  meal,  ere 
iis  menial  announced  to  him  that  five  men.  each  lead¬ 
ing  a  barbed  steed,  desired  to  speak  with  him.  The 
Disinherited  Knight  had  exchanged  his  armor  for 
:he  long  robe  usually  worn  by  those  of  his  condition, 
which,  being  furnished  with  a  hood,  concealed  the 
features,  when  such  was  the  pleasure  of  the  wearer, 
ilmost  as  completely  as  the  visor  of  the  helmet  itself ; 


136 


I  VAN  HOE 


but  the  twilight,  which  was  now  fast  darkening, 
would  of  itself  have  rendered  a  disguise  unneces¬ 
sary,  unless  to  persons  to  whom  the  face  of  an  indi¬ 
vidual  chanced  to  be  particularly  well  known. 

The  Disinherited  Knight,  therefore,  stept  boldly 
forth  to  the  front  of  his  tent,  and  found  in  attend¬ 
ance  the  squires  of  the  challengers,  whom  he  easily 
knew  by  their  russet  and  black  dresses,  each  of 
whom  led  his  master’s  charger,  loaded  with  the  ar¬ 
mor  in  which  he  had  that  day  fought. 

‘‘According  to  the  laws  of  chivalry,”  said  the  fore¬ 
most  of  these  men,  “I,  Baldwin  de  Oyley,  squire  to 
the  redoubted  Knight  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  make 
offer  to  you,  styling  yourself,  for  the  present,  the 
Disinherited  Knight,  of  the  horse  and  armor  used 
by  the  said  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  in  this  day’s  Pas¬ 
sage  of  Arms,  leaving  it  with  your  nobleness  to 
obtain  or  to  ransom  the  same,  according  to  your 
pleasure;  for  such  is  the  law  of  arms.” 

The  other  squires  repeated  nearly  the  same  for¬ 
mula,  and  then  stood  to  await  the  decision  of  the 
Disinherited  Knight. 

“To  you  four,  sirs,”  replied  the  Knight,  addressing 
those  who  had  last  spoken,  “and  to  your  honorable 
and  valiant  masters,  I  have  one  common  reply.  Com¬ 
mend  me  to  the  noble  knights,  your  masters;  and 
say  I  should  do  ill  to  deprive  them  of  steeds  and  arms 
which  can  never  be  used  by  braver  cavaliers. — I 
would  I  could  here  end  my  message  to  these  gallant 
knights;  but  being,  as  I  term  myself,  in  truth  and 
earnest,  the  Disinherited,  I  must  be  thus  far  bound 
to  your  masters,  that  they  will,  of  their  courtesy,  be 
pleased  to  ransom  their  steeds  and  armor,  since  that 
which  I  wear  I  can  hardly  term  mine  own.” 

“We  stand  commissioned,  each  of  us,”  answered 
the  squire  of  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,  “to  offer  a 


IVANHOE 


187 


hundred  zecchins  in  ransom  of  these  horses  and  suits 
of  armor.” 

“It  is  sufficient,”  said  the  Disinherited  Knight, 
“Half  the  sum  my  present  necessities  compel  me  to 
accept;  of  the  remaining  half,  distribute  one  moiety 
among  yourselves,  sir  squires,  and  divide  the  other 
half  betwixt  the  heralds  and  the  pursuivants,  and 
minstrels,  and  attendants.” 

The  squires,  with  cap  in  hand,  and  low  reverences, 
expressed  their  deep  sense  of  a  courtesy  and  gen¬ 
erosity  not  often  practiced,  at  least  upon  a  scale  so 
extensive.  The  Disinherited  Knight  then  addressed 
his  discourse  to  Baldwin,  the  squire  of  Brian  de 
Bois-Guilbert.  “From  your  master,”  said  he,  “I  will 
accept  neither  arms  nor  ransom.  Say  to  him  in  my 
name,  that  our  strife  is  not  ended — no,  not  till  we 
have  fought  as  well  with  swords  as  with  lances — 
as  well  on  foot  as  on  horseback.  To  this  mortal 
quarrel  he  has  himself  defied  me,  and  I  shall  not 
forget  the  challenge.— Meantime,  let  him  be  assured 
that  I  hold  him  not  as  one  of  his  companions,  with 
whom  I  can  with  pleasure  exchange  courtesies;  but 
rather  as  one  with  whom  I  stand  upon  terms  of  mor¬ 
tal  defiance.” 

“My  master,”  answered  Baldwin,  “knows  how  to 
requite  scorn  with  scorn,  and  blows  with  blows,  as 
well  as  courtesy  with  courtesy.  Since  you  disdain  to 
accept  from  him  any  share  of  the  ransom  at  which 
you  have  rated  the  arms  of  the  other  knights,  I  must 
leave  his  armor  and  his  horSe  here,  being  well  as¬ 
sured  that  he  will  never  deign  to  mount  the  one  or 
wear  the  other.” 

“You  have  spoken  well,  good  Squire,  said  the 
Disinherited  Knight,  “well  and  boldly,  as  it  be- 
seemeth  him  to  speak  who  answers  for  an  absent 
master.  Leave  not,  however,  the  horse  and  armor 
here.  Restore  them  to  thy  master,  or,  if  he  scorns 


138 


Ivan  hoe 


to  accept  them,  retain  them,  good  friend,  for  thine 
own  use.  So  far  as  they  are  mine,  I  bestow  them 
upon  you  freely.” 

Baldwin  made  a  deep  obeisance,  and  retired  with 
his  companions;  and  the  Disinherited  Knight  en¬ 
tered  the  pavilion. 

“Thus  far,  Gurth,”  said  he  addressing  his  at¬ 
tendant,  “the  reputation  of  English  chivalry  hath 
not  suffered  in  my  hands.” 

“And  I,”  said  Gurth,  “for  a  Saxon  swineherd,  have 
not  ill  played  the  personage  of  a  Norman  squire-at- 
arms.” 

“Yea,  but,”  answered  the  Disinherited  Knight, 
“thou  hast  ever  kept  me  in  anxiety  lest  thy  clownish 
bearing  should  discover  thee.” 

“Tush!”  said  Gurth,  “I  fear  discovery  from  none, 
saving  my  playfellow,  Wamba  the  Jester,  of  whom 
I  could  never  discover  whether  he  were  most  knave 
or  fool.  Yet  I  could  scarce  choose  but  to  laugh,  when 
my  old  master  passed  so  near  to  me,  dreaming  all  the 
while  that  Gurth  was  keeping  his  porkers  many  a 
mile  off,  in  the  thickets  and  swamps  of  Rotherwood. 
If  I  am  discovered - ” 

“Enough,”  said  the  Disinherited  Knight,  “thou 
knowest  my  promise.” 

“Nay,  for  that  matter,”  said  Gurth.  “I  will  never 
fail  my  friend  for  fear  of  my  skin-cutting.  I  have 
a  tough  hide,  that  will  bear  knife  or  scourge  as  well 
as  any  boar's  hide  in  my  herd.” 

“Trust  me,  I  will  requite  the  risk  you  run  for  my 
love,  Gurth,”  said  the  Knight.  “Meanwhile,  I  pray 
you  to  accept  these  ten  pieces  of  gold.” 

“I  am  richer,”  said  Gurth,  putting  them  into  his 
pouch,  “than  ever  was  swineherd  or  bondsman.” 

“Take  this  bag  of  gold  to  Ashby,”  continued  his 
master,  “and  find  out  Isaac  the  Jew  of  York,  and  let 
him  pay  himself  for  the  horse  and  arms  with  which 


IVANHOE 


139 


his  credit  supplied  me.” 

“Nay,  by  St.  Dunstan,”  replied  Gurth,  “that  I  will 
not  do.” 

“How,  knave,”  replied  his  master,  “wilt  thou  not 
obey  my  commands?” 

“So  they  be  honest,  reasonable,  and  Christian  com¬ 
mands,”  replied  Gurth;  “but  this  is  none  of  these. 

|  To  suffer  the  Jew  to  pay  himself  would  be  dishonest, 

!  for  it  would  be  cheating  my  master;  and  unreason¬ 
able,  for  it  were  the  part  of  a  fool;  and  unchristian, 
since  it  would  be  plundering  a  believer  to  enrich  an 
infidel.” 

!  “See  him  contented,  however,  thou  stubborn  var- 
II  let.”  said  the  Disinherited  Knight. 

“I  will  do  sc,”  said  Gurth,  taking  the  bag  under 
his  cloak  and  leaving  the  apartment;  “and  it  will 
go  hard,”  he  muttered,  “but  I  content  him  with  one- 
half  of  his  own  asking.”  So  saying,  he  departed,  and 
left  the  Disinherited  Knight  to  his  own  perplexed 
ruminations;  which,  upon  more  accounts  than  it  is 
now  possible  to  communicate  to  the  reader,  were  of  a 
nature  peculiarly  agitating  and  painful. 

We  must  now  change  the  scene  to  the  village  of 
Ashby,  or  rather  to  a  country  house  in  its  vicinity 
belonging  to  a  wealthy  Israelite,  with  whom  Isaac, 
his  daughter,  and  retinue  had  taken  up  their  quar¬ 
ters;  the  Jews,  it  is  well  known,  being  as  liberal  in 
exercising  the  duties  of  hospitality  and  charity 
among  their  own  people,  as  they  were  alleged  to  be 
reluctant  and  churlish  in  extending  them  to  those 
whom  they  termed  Gentiles,  and  whose  treatment  of 
them  certainly  merited  little  hospitality  at  their 
hand. 

In  an  apartment,  small  indeed,  but  richly  fur¬ 
nished  with  decorations  of  an  Oriental  taste,  Re¬ 
becca  was  seated  on  a  heap  of  embroidered  cuSh- 


140 


IVANHOE 


ions,  which,  piled  along  a  low  platform  that  sur¬ 
rounded  the  chamber,  served,  like  the  estrada  of 
the  Spaniards,  instead  of  chairs  and  stools.  She 
was  watching  the  motions  of  her  father  with  a  look 
of  anxious  and  filial  affection,  while  he  paced  the 
apartment  with  a  dejected  mien  and  disordered 
step;  sometimes  clasping  his  hands  together — some¬ 
times  casting  his  eyes  to  the  roof  of  the  apart¬ 
ment,  as  one  who  labored  under  great  mental 
tribulation.  “0  Jacob !”  he  exclaimed — “0  all  ye 
twelve  Holy  Fathers  of  our  tribe!  what  a  losing 
venture  is  this  for  one  who  hath  duly  kept  every 
jot  and  tittle  of  the  law  of  Moses. — Fifty  zecchins 
wrenched  from  me  at  one  clutch,  and  by  the  talons 
of  a  tyrant !” 

“But,  father,”  said  Rebecca,  “you  seemed  to  give 
the  gold  to  Prince  John  willingly.” 

“Willingly?  The  blotch  of  Egypt  upon  him!-- 
Willingly,  saidst  thou? — Ay,  as  willingly  as  when, 
in  the  Gulf  of  Lyons,  I  flung  over  my  merchandise 
to  lighten  the  ship,  while  she  labored  in  the  temp¬ 
est — robed  the  seething  billows  in  my  choice  silks — 
perfumed  their  briny  foam  with  myrrh  and  aloes — 
enriched  their  caverns  with  gold  and  silver  work! 
And  was  not  that  an  hour  of  unutterable  misery, 
though  my  own  hand  made  the  sacrifice?” 

“But  it  was  a  sacrifice  which  Heaven  exacted  to 
save  our  lives,”  answered  Rebecca,  “and  the  God 
of  our  fathers  has  since  blessed  your  store  and 
your  gettings.” 

“Ay,”  answered  Isaac,  “but  if  the  tyrant  lays 
hold  on  them  as  he  did  to-day,  and  compels  me  to 
smile  while  he  is  robbing  me? — 0  daughter,  disin¬ 
herited  and  wandering  as  we  are,  the  worst  evil 
which  befalls  our  race  is,  that  when  we  are  wronged 
and  plundered,  all  the  world  laughs  around,  and 


Ivan  hoe 


141 


we  are  compelled  to  suppress  our  sense  of  injury, 
and  to  smile  tamely,  when  we  would  revenge  brave¬ 
ly” 

“Think  not  thus  of  it,  my  father,”  said  Rebecca; 
“we  also  have  advantages.  These  Gentiles,  cruel 
and  oppressive  as  they  are,  are  in  some  sort  de¬ 
pendent  on  the  dispersed  children  of  Zion,  whom 
they  despise  and  persecute.  Without  the  aid  of  our 
wealth,  they  could  neither  furnish  forth  their  hosts 
in  war,  nor  their  triumphs  in  peace;  and  the  gold 
which  we  lend  them  returns  with  increase  to  our 
coffers.  We  are  like  the  herb  which  flourished 
most  when  it  is  most  trampled  on.  Even  this  day’s 
pageant  had  not  proceeded  without  the  consent  of 
the  despised  Jew,  who  furnished  the  means.” 

“Daughter,”  said  Isaac,  “thou  hast  harped  upon 
another  string  of  sorrow.  The  goodly  steed  and  the 
rich  armor  equal  to  the  full  profit  of  my  adventure 
with  our  Kirjath  Jairam  of  Leicester — there  is  a 
dead  loss  too— ay,  a  loss  which  swallows  up  the 
gains  of  a  week;  ay,  of  the  space  between  two  Sab¬ 
baths — and  yet  it  may  end  better  than  I  now  think, 
for  ’tis  a  good  youth.” 

“Assuredly,”  said  Rebecca,  “you  shall  not  re¬ 
pent  you  of  requiting  the  good  deed  received  of 
the  stranger  knight.” 

“I  trust  so  daughter,”  said  Isaac,  “and  I  trust 
too  in  the  rebuilding  of  Zion;  but  as  well  do  I 
hope  with  my  own  bodily  eyes  to  see  the  walls 
and  battlements  of  the  new  Temple,  as  to  see  a 
Christian,  yea,  the  very  best  of  Christians,  repay 
a  debt  to  a  Jew,  unless  under  the  awe  of  the  judge 
and  jailer.” 

So  saying,  he  resumed  his  discontented  walk 
through  the  apartment;  and  Rebecca,  perceiving 
that  her  attempts  at  consolation  only  served  to 


142 


IVANHOE 


awaken  new  subjects  of  complaint,  wisely  desisted 
from  her  unavailing  efforts — a  prudential  line  of 
conduct,  and  we  recommend  to  all  who  set  up  for 
comforters  and  advisers,  to  follow  it  in  the  like  cir¬ 
cumstances. 

The  evening  was  now  becoming  dark,  when  a 
Jewish  servant  entered  the  apartment,  and  placed 
upon  the  table  two  silver  lamps,  fed  with  perfumed 
oil;  the  richest  wines,  and  the  most  delicate  re¬ 
freshments  were  at  the  same  time  displayed  by 
another  Israelitish  domestic  on  a  small  ebony  table, 
inlaid  with  silver;  for,  in  the  interior  of  their 
houses,  the  Jews  refused  themselves  no  expensive 
indulgences.  At  the  same  time  the  servant  informed 
Isaac  that  a  Nazarene  (so  they  termed  Christians, 
while  conversing  among  themselves)  desired  to 
speak  with  him.  He  that  would  live  by  traffic, 
must  hold  himself  at  the  disposal  of  every  one 
claiming  business  with  him.  Isaac  at  once  replaced 
on  the  table  the  untasted  glass  of  Greek  wine  which 
he  had  just  raised  to  his  lips,  and  saying  hastily 
to  his  daughter,  “Rebecca,  veil  thyself,”  command¬ 
ed  the  stranger  to  be  admitted. 

Just  as  Rebecca  had  dropped  over  her  fine  feat¬ 
ures  a  screen  of  silver  gauze  which  reached  to  her 
feet,  the  door  opened,  and  Gurth  entered,  wrapt 
in  the  ample  folds  of  his  Norman  mantle.  His  ap¬ 
pearance  was  rather  suspicious  than  prepossessing, 
especially  as,  instead  of  doffing  his  bonnet,  he 
pulled  it  still  deeper  over  his  rugged  brow. 

“Art  thou  Isaac  the  Jew  of  York?”  said  Gurth, 
in  Saxon. 

“I  am”  replied  Isaac,  in  the  same  language  (for 
his  traffic  had  rendered  every  tongue  spoken  in 
Britain  familiar  to  him) — “and  who  art  thou?” 

“That  is  not  to  the  purpose/”  answered  Gurth, 


IVANHOE 


143 


“As  much  as  my  name  is  to  thee,”  replied  Isaac; 
“for  without  knowing  thine,  how  can  I  hold  inter¬ 
course  with  thee?” 

“Easily,”  aswered  Gurth ;  “I,  being  to  pay  money, 
must  know  that  I  deliver  it  to  the  right  person; 
thou,  who  art  to  receive  it,  will  not,  I  think,  care 
very  greatly  by  whose  hands  it  is  delivered.” 

“0,”  said  the  Jew,  “you  are  come  to  pay  moneys? 
Holy  Father  Abraham!  that  altereth  our  relation  to 
each  other.  And  from  whom  dost  thou  bring  it?” 

“From  the  Disinherited  Knight,”  said  Gurth, 
“victor  in  this  day’s  tournament.  It  is  the  price 
of  the  armor  supplied  to  him  by  Kirjath  Jairam  of 
Leicester,  on  thy  recommendation.  The  steed  is 
restored  to  thy  stable.  I  desire  to  know  the  amount 
of  the  sum  which  I  am  to  pay  for  the  armor.” 

“I  said  he  was  a  good  youth!”  exclaimed  Isaac, 
with  joyful  exultation.  “A  cup  of  wine  will  do 
thee  no  harm,”  he  added,  filling  and  handing  to  the 
swineherd  a  richer  draught  than  Gurth  had  ever 
before  tasted.  “And  how  much  money,”  continued 
Isaac,  “hast  thou  brought  with  thee?” 

“Holy  Virgin!”  said  Gurth,  setting  down  the  cup, 
“what  nectar  these  unbelieving  dogs  drink,  while 
true  Christians  are  fain  to  quaff  ale  as  muddy  and 
thick  as  the  draff  we  give  to  hogs! — What  money 
have  I  brought  with  me?”  continued  the  Saxon, 
when  he  had  finished  this  uncivil  ejaculation,  “even 
but  a  small  sum;  something  in  hand  the  whilst. 
What,  Isaac!  thou  must  bear  a  conscience,  though 
it  be  a  Jewish  one.” 

“Nay,  but,”  said  Isaac,  “thy  master  has  won 
goodly  steeds  and  rich  armors  with  the  strength  of 
his  lance,  and  of  his  right  hand — but  ’tis  a  good 


Question  ;  How  do  you  account  for  the  change  in  Gurth? 


144 


Ivan  hoe 


youth — the  Jew  will  take  these  in  present  payment, 
and  render  him  back  the  surplus.” 

“My  master  has  disposed  of  them  already,”  said 
Gurth. 

“Ah!  that  was  wrong,”  said  the  Jew,  “that  was 
the  part  of  a  fool.  No  Christian  here  could  buy  so 
many  horses  and  armor — no  Jew  except  myself 
would  give  him  half  the  values.  But  thou  hast  a 
hundred  zecchins  with  thee  in  that  bag,”  said 
Isaac,  prying  under  Gurth’s  cloak,;  “it  is  a  heavy 
one.” 

“I  have  heads  for  crossbow  bolts  in  it,”  said 
Gurth,  readily. 

“Well,  then,”  said  Isaac,  panting  and  hesitating 
between  habitual  love  of  gain  and  a  new-born  de¬ 
sire  to  be  liberal  in  the  present  instance,  “if  I 
should  say  that  I  would  take  eighty  zecchins  for  the 
good  steed  and  the  rich  armor,  which  leaves  me  not 
a  guilder’s  profit,  have  you  money  to  pay  me!’' 

“Barely,”  said  Gurth,  though  the  sum  demanded 
was  more  reasonable  than  he  expected,  “and  it  will 
leave  my  master  nigh  penniless.  Nevertheless,  if 
such  be  your  least  offer,  I  must  be  content.” 

“Fill  thyself  another  goblet  of  wine,”  said  the 
Jew.  “Ah,  eighty  zecchins  is  too  little.  It  leaveth 
no  profit  for  the  usages  of  the  moneys;  and,  be¬ 
sides,  the  good  horse  may  have  suffered  wrong  in 
this  day’s  encounter.  0,  it  was  a  hard  and  a  dan¬ 
gerous  meeting!  man  and  steed  rushing  on  each 
other  like  wild  bulls  of  Bashan!1  The  horse  cannot 
but  have  had  wrong.” 

“And  I  say,”  replied  Gurth,  “he  is  sound,  wind 
and  limb;  and  you  may  see  him  now,  in  your  stable. 
And  I  say,  over  and  above,  that  seventy  zecchins  is 
enough  for  the  armor,  and  I  hope  a  Christian’s 

'Psalm  XXII. 


IVANHOE 


145 


word  is  as  good  as  a  Jew’s.  If  you  will  not  take 
seventy,  I  will  carry  this  bag”  (and  he  shook  it 
til  the  contents  jingled)  “back  to  my  master.” 

“Nay,  nay!”  said  Isaac;  “lay  down  the  talents 
— the  shekels — the  eighty  zecchins,  and  thou  shalt 
see  I  will  consider  thee  liberally.” 

Gurth  at  length  complied;  and  telling  out  eighty 
zecchins  upon  the  table,  the  Jew  delivered  out  to 
him  an  acquittance  for  the  horse  and  suit  of  armor. 
The  Jew’s  hand  trembled  for  joy  as  he  wrapped  up 
the  first  seventy  pieces  of  gold.  The  last  ten  he 
told  over  with  much  deliberation,  pausing,  and  say¬ 
ing  something  as  he  took  each  piece  from  the  table, 
and  dropt  it  into  his  purse.  It  seemed  as  if  his 
avarice  were  struggling  with  his  better  nature,  and 
compelling  him  to  pouch  zecchin  after  zecchin, 
while  his  generosity  urged  him  to  restore  some 
part  at  least  to  his  benefactor,  or  as  a  donation  to 
his  agent.  His  whole  speech  ran  nearly  thus: 

“Seventy-one — seventy-two;  thy  master  is  a  good 
youth — seventy-three,  an  excellent  youth — seventy- 
four — that  piece  hath  been  dipt  within  the  ring;1 
seventy-five — and  that  looketh  light  of  weight — sev¬ 
enty-six — when  thy  master  wants  money,  let  him 
come  to  Isaac  of  York — seventy-seven — that  is,  with 
reasonable  security.”  Here  he  made  a  considerable 
pause,  and  Gurth  had  good  hope  that  the  last  three 
pieces  might  escape  the  fate  of  their  comrades; 
but  the  enumeration  proceeded — “seventy-eight— 
thou  are  a  good  fellow — seventy-nine — and  deserv- 
est  something  for  thyself — ” 

Here  the  Jew  paused  again,  and  looked  at  the 
last  zecchin,  intending,  doubtless,  to  bestow  it  upon 
Gurth.  He  weighed  it  upon  the  tip  of  his  finger, 
and  made  it  ring  by  dropping  it  upon  the  table.  Had 

Smaller  in  circumference  than  should  he. 


146 


IVANHOE 


it  rung  too  flat,  or  had  it  felt  a  hair’s  breadth  too 
light,  generosity  had  carried  the  day;  but,  unhap¬ 
pily  for  Gurth,  the  chime  was  full  and  true,  the 
zecchin  plump,  newly  coined,  and  a  grain  above 
weight.  Isaac  could  not  find  in  his  heart  to  part 
with  it,  so  dropt  it  into  his  purse  as  if  in  absence  of 
mind,  with  the  words,  “Eighty  completes  the  tale, 
and  I  trust  thy  master  will  reward  thee  handsomely. 
— Surely,”  he  added,  looking  earnestly  at  the  bag, 
“thou  hast  more  coins  in  that  pouch?” 

Gurth  grinned,  which  was  his  nearest  approach 
to  a  laugh,  as  he  replied,  “About  the  same  quantity 
which  thou  hast  just  told  over  so  carefully.”  He 
then  folded  the  quittance,  and  put  it  under  his  cap, 
adding, — “Peril  of  thy  beard,,  Jew,  see  that  this 
be  full  and  ample!”  He  filled  himself,  unbidden,  a 
third  goblet  of  wine,  and  left  the  apartment  with¬ 
out  ceremony. 

“Rebecca,”  said  the  Jew,  “that  Ishmaelite  hath 
gone  somewhat  beyond  me.  Nevertheless  his  master 
is  a  good  youth — ay,  and  I  am  well  pleased  that  he 
hath  gained  shekels  of  gold  and  shekels  of  silver, 
even  by  the  speed  of  his  horse  and  by  the  strength 
of  his  lance,  which,  like  that  of  Goliath1,  the  Phili¬ 
stine,  might  vie  with  a  weaver’s  beam.” 

As  he  turned  to  receive  Rebecca’s  answer,  he  ob¬ 
served,  that  during  his  chaffering  with  Gurth,  she 
had  left  the  apartment  unperceived. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Gurth  had  descended  the  stair 
and,  having  reached  the  dark  antechamber  or  hall 
was  puzzling  about  to  discover  the  entrance,  when  a 
figure  in  white,  shown  by  a  small  silver  lamp  whict 
she  held  in  her  hand,  beckoned  him  into  a  side 
apartment.  Gurth  had  some  reluctance  to  obey  the 
summons.  Rough  and  impetuous  as  a  wild  boar 


’I  Samuel  XVII,  4-54. 


IVANHOE 


147 


where  only  earthly  force  was  to  be  apprehended,  he 
had  all  the  characteristic  terrors  of  a  Saxon  respect¬ 
ing  fauns,  forest-fiends,  white  women,  and  the  whole 
|  of  the  superstitions  which  his  ancestors  had  brought 
with  them  from  the  wilds  of  Germany.  He  remem¬ 
bered,  moreover,  that  he  was  in  the  house  of  a  Jew, 
a  people  who,  besides  the  other  unamiable  qualities 
•  which  popular  report  ascribed  to  them,  were  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  profound  necromancers  and  cabalists. 
Nevertheless,  after  a  moment’s  pause,  he  obeyed  the 
!  beckoning  summons  of  the  apparition,  and  followed 
her  into  the  apartment  which  she  indicated,  where 
he  found  to  his  joyful  surprise  that  his  fair  guide 
was  the  beautiful  Jewess  whom  he  had  seen  at  the 
tournament,  and  a  short  time  in  her  father’s  apart¬ 
ment. 

She  asked  him  the  particulars  of  his  transaction 
with  Isaac,  which  he  detailed  accurately, 
i  “My  father  did  but  jest  with  thee,  good  fellow,” 
said  Rebecca;  “he  owes  thy  master  deeper  kindness 
than  these  arms  and  steed  could  pay.  were  their 
value  tenfold.  What  sum  didst  thou  pay  my  father 
||  even  now?” 

“Eighty  zecchms,”  said  Gurth,  surprised  at  the 
I  question. 

“In  this  purse,”  said  Rebecca,  “thou  wilt  find  a 
hundred.  Restore  to  thy  master  that  which  is  his 
due,  and  enrich  thyself  with  the  remainder.  Haste 
— begone — stay  not  to  render  thanks!  and  beware 
how  you  pass  through  this  crowded  town,  where 
thou  mayst  easily  lose  both  thy  burden  and  thy  life. 

1  —Reuben,”  she  added,  clapping  her  hands  together, 
“light  forth  this  stranger,  and  fail  not  to  draw  lock 
and  bar  behind  him.” 

Reuben,  a  dark-browed  and  black-bearded  Israel¬ 
ite,  obeyed  her  summons,  with  a  torch  in  his  hand; 


148 


Ivan  hoe 


undid  the  outward  door  of  the  house,  and  conduct¬ 
ing  Gurth  across  a  paved  court,  let  him  out  through 
a  wicket  in  the  entrance-gate,  which  he  closed  be¬ 
hind  him  with  such  bolts  and  chains  as  would  well 
have  become  that  of  a  prison. 

“By  St.  Dunstan,”  said  Gurth,  as  he  stumbled  up 
the  dark  avenue,  “this  is  no  Jewess,  but  an  angel 
from  heaven!  Ten  zecchins  from  my  brave  young 
master — twenty  from  this  pearl  of  Zion — Oh,  happy 
day! — Such  another,  Gurth,  will  redeem  thy  bond¬ 
age,  and  make  thee  a  brother  as  free  of  thy  guild  as 
the  best.  And  then  do  I  lay  down  my  swineherd’s 
horn  and  staff,  and  take  the  freeman’s  sword  and 
buckler,  and  follow  my  young  master  to  the  death, 
without  hiding  either  my  face  or  my  name.” 


CHAPTER  XI 


1st  Outlaw.  Stand,  Sip,  and  throw  us  that  you  have  about 
^ou.  If  not,  we’ll  make  you  sit,  and  rifle  you. 

Speed.  /Sir,  we  are  undone!  these  are  the  villains 
That  all  travelers  do  fear  so  much. 

Val.  My  friends, — 

1st  Out.  That’s  not  so,  sir,  we  are  your  enemies. 

2d  Out.  Peace !  we’U  hear  him. 

3 d  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we; 

For  he’s  a  proper  man. 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

1  The  nocturnal  adventures  of  Gurth  were  not  yet 
concluded;  indeed,  he  himself  became  partly  of  that 
mind,  when,  after  passing  one  or  two  straggling 
;  houses  which  stood  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village, 
he  found  himself  in  a  deep  lane,  running  between 
two  banks  overgrown  with  hazel  and  holly,  while 
here  and  there  a  dwarf  oak  hung  its  arms  altogether 
!  across  the  path.  The  lane  was  moreover  much  rut¬ 
ted  and  broken  up  by  the  carriages  which  had  re¬ 
cently  transported  articles  of  various  kinds  to  the 
I  tournament;  and  it  was  dark,  for  the  banks  and 
|  bushes  intercepted  the  light  of  the  harvest  moon. 

From  the  village  were  heard  the  distant  sounds  of 
revelry,  mixed  occasionally  with  loud  laughter,  some¬ 
times  broken  by  screams,  and  sometimes  by  wild 
strains  of  distant  music.  All  these  sounds,  intimat¬ 
ing  the  disorderly  state  of  the  town,  crowded  with 
military  nobles  and  their  dissolute  attendants,  gave 
I  Gurth  some  uneasiness.  “The  Jewes.3  was  right,” 
j  he  said  to  himself.  “By  heaven  and  St.  Dunstan, 
j  I  would  I  were  safe  at  my  journey’s  end  with  all 
this  treasure!  Here  are  such  numbers,  I  will  not 

Question  :  What  did  Gurth  want  to  do  when  he  got  his 
freedom  from  Cedric? 


150 


IVANHOE 


say  of  arrant  thieves,  but  of  errant  knights  and 
errant  squires,  errant  monks  and  errant  minstrels, 
errant  jugglers  and  errant  jesters,  that  a  man  with  a 
single  merk  would  be  in  danger,  much  more  a  poor 
swineherd  with  a  whole  bagful  of  zecchins.  Would 
I  were  out  of  the  shade  of  these  infernal  bushes, 
that  I  might  at  least  see  any  of  St.  Niholas’s  clerks 
before  they  spring  on  my  shoulderlS.,, 

Gurth  accordingly  hastened  his  pace,  in  order  to 
gain  the  open  common  to  which  the  lane  led,  but 
was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  accomplish  his  object. 
Just  as  he  attained  the  upper  end  of  the  lane,  where 
the  underwood  was  thickest,  four  men  sprung  upon 
him,  even  as  his  fears  anticipated,  two  from  each 
side  of  the  road,  and  seized  him  so  fast,  that  resist¬ 
ance,  if  at  first  practicable,  would  have  been  now 
too  late. — “Surrender  your  charge,”  said  one  of 
them;  “we  are  the  deliverers  of  the  commonwealth, 
who  ease  every  man  of  his  burden.” 

“You  should  not  e^se  me  of  mine  so  lightly,” 
muttered  Gurth,  whose  surly  honesty  could  not  be 
tamed  even  by  the  pressure  of  immediate  violence, 
“had  I  it  in  but  my  power  to  give  three  strokes  in  its 
defense.” 

“We  shall  see  that  presently,”  said  the  robber,  and 
speaking  to  his  companions,  he  added,  “bring  along 
the  knave,  I  see  he  would  have  his  head  broken,  as 
well  as  his  purse  cut,  and  so  be  let  blood  in  two  veins 
at  once.” 

Gurth  was  hurried  along  agreeably  to  this  man¬ 
date,  and  having  been  dragged  somewhat  roughly 
over  the  bank,  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  lane, 
found  himself  in  a  straggling  thicket,  which  lay  be¬ 
twixt  it  and  the  open  common.  He  was  compelled 
to  follow  his  rough  conductors  into  the  very  depth 

Matron  saint  of  thieves  as  well  as  of  children. 


Ivan  hoe 


151 


of  this  cover,  where  they  stopped  unexpectedly  in  an 
irregular  open  space,  free  in  a  great  measure  from 
trees,  and  on  which,  therefore,  the  beams  of  the 
moon  fell  without  much  interruption  from  bough 
and  leaves.  Here  his  captors  were  joined  by  two 
other  persons,  apparently  belonging  to  the  gang. 
They  had  short  swords  by  their  sides,  and  quarter- 
staves  in  their  hands,  and  Gurth  could  now  observe 
that  all  six  wore  visors,  which  rendered  their  occu¬ 
pation  a  matter  of  no  question,  even  had  their  form¬ 
er  proceedings  left  in  doubt. 

“What  money  hast  thou,  churl  ?”  said  one  of  the 
thieves. 

“Thirty  zecchins  of  my  own  property,”  answered 
Gurth,  doggedly. 

“A  forfeit — a  forfeit,”  shouted  the  robbers-  “n 
Saxon  hath  thirty  zecchins,  and  returns  sober  from 
a  village!  An  undeniable  and  unredeemable  forfeit 
of  all  he  hath  about  him.” 

“I  hoarded  it  to  purchase  my  freedom,”  said 
Gurth. 

“Thou  art  an  ass,”  replied  one  of  the  thieves; 
“three  quarts  of  double  ale  had  rendered  thee  as 
free  as  thy  master,  ay,  and  freer  too,  if  he  be  a 
Saxon  like  thyself.” 

“A  sad  truth,”  replied  Gurth ;  “but  if  these  same 
thirty  zecchins  will  buy  my  freedom  from  you,  un¬ 
loose  my  hands,  and  I  will  pay  them  to  you.” 

“Hold,”  said  one  who  seemed  to  exercise  some 
authority  over  the  others;  “this  bag  which  thou 
bearest,  as  I  can  feel  through  thy  cloak,  contains 
more  coin  than  thou  hast  told  us  of. 

“It  is  the  good  knight  my  master's,”  answered 
Gurth,  “of  which,  assuredly,  I  would  not  have 
spoken  a  word,  had  you  been  satisfied  with  working 
your  will  upon  mine  own  property.” 

“Thou  art  an  honest  fellow,”  replied  the  robber, 


152 


Ivan  hoe 


“I  warrant  thee;  and  we  worship  not  St.  Nicholas 
so  devoutly  but  what  thy  thirty  zecchins  may  yet 
escape,  if  thou  deal  uprightly  with  us.  Meantime 
render  up  thy  trust  for  the  time.”  So  saying,  he 
took  from  Gurth’s  breast  the  large  leathern  pouch, 
in  which  the  purse  given  him  by  Rebecca  was  in¬ 
closed,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  zecchins,  and  then 
continued  his  interrogation. — “Who  is  thy  master?” 

“The  Disinherited  Knight,”  said  Gurth. 

“Whose  good  lance,”  replied  the  robber,  “won  the 
prize  in  to-day’s  tourney?  What  is  his  name  and 
lineage?” 

*Tt  is  his  pleasure,”  answered  Gurth,  “that  they 
be  concealed;  and  from  me,  assuredly,  you  will  learn 
naught  of  them.” 

“What  is  thine  own  name  and  lineage?’’ 

“To  tell  that,”  said  Gurth,  “might  reveal  my 
master’s.” 

“Thou  art  a  saucy  groom,”  said  the  robber,  “but 
of  that  anon.  How  comes  thy  master  by  this  gold? 
Is  it  of  his  inheritance,  or  by  what  means  hath  it 
accrued  to  him?” 

“By  his  good  lance,”  answered  Gurth. — “These 
bags  contain  the  ransom  of  four  good  horses,  and 
four  good  suits  of  armor.” 

“How  much  is  there?”  demanded  the  robber. 

“Two  hundred  zecchins.” 

“Only  two  hundred  zecchins!”  said  the  bandit; 
“your  master  hath  dealt  liberally  by  the  vanquished, 
and  put  them  to  a  cheap  ransom.  Name  those  who 
paid  the  gold.” 

Gurth  did  so. 

“The  armor  and  horse  of  the  Templar  Brian  de 
Bois-Guilbert,  at  what  ransom  were  they  held? — 
Thou  seest  thou  canst  not  deceive  me.” 

“My  master,”  replied  Gurth,  “will  take  naught 


IVANHOE 


153 


|  fiom  the  Templar  save  his  life’s  blood.  They  ar^ 
i  on  terms  of  mortal  defiance,  and  cannot  hold  courte¬ 
ous  intercourse  together.” 

‘Indeed!”  repeated  the  robber,  and  paused  after 
|  he.  had  said  the  word.  “And  what  wert  thou  now 
doing  at  Ashby  with  such  a  charge  in  thy  custody?” 

“I  went  thither  to  render  to  Isaac  the  Jew  of 
York,”  replied  Gurth,  “the  price  of  a  suit  of  armor 
with  which  he  fitted  my  master  for  this  tournament.’’ 

“And  how  much  didst  thou  pay  to  Isaac?— Me- 
thinks  to  judge  by  weight,  there  is  still  two  hundred 
zecchins  in  this  pouch.” 

“I  paid  to  Isaac,”  said  the  Saxon,  “eighty  zec¬ 
chins,  and  he  restored  me  a  hundred  in  lieu  there¬ 
of.” 

“How!  what!”  exclaimed  all  the  robbers  at  once; 
“darest  thou  trifle  with  us,  that  thou  tellest  such 
improbable  lies?” 

“What  I  tell  you,”  said  Gurth,  “is  as  true  as  the 
moon  is  in  heaven.  You  will  find  the  just  sum  in 
a  silken  purse  within  the  leathern  pouch,  and  sepa¬ 
rate  from  the  rest  of  the  gold.” 

“Bethink  thee,  man,”  said  the  Captain,  “thou 
speakest  of  a  Jew — of  an  Israelite, — as  unapt  to 
restore  gold  as  the  dry  sand  of  his  deserts  to  return 
the  cup  of  water  which  the  pilgrim  spills  upon 
them.” 

“There  is  no  more  mercy  in  them,”  said  another 
of  the  banditti,  “than  in  an  unbribed  sheriff’s  of¬ 
ficer.” 

“It  is,  however,  as  I  say,”  said  Gurth. 

“Strike  a  light  instantly,”  said  the  Captain;  “I 
will  examine  this  said  purse;  and  if  it  be  as  this 
I  fellow  says,  the  Jew’s  bounty  is  little  less  miracu- 
|  lous  than  the  stream  which  relieved  his  fathers  in 
the  wilderness.” 


154 


Ivan  hoe 


A  light  was  procured  accordingly,  and  the  robber 
proceeded  to  examine  the  purse.  The  others  crowded 
around  him,  and  even  two  who  had  hold  of  Gurth 
relaxed  their  grasp  while  they  stretched  their  necks 
to  see  the  issue  of  the  search.  Availing  himself  of 
their  negligence,  by  a  sudden  exertion  of  strength 
and  activity,  Gurth  shook  himself  free  of  their  hold, 
and  might  have  escaped,  could  he  have  resolved  to 
leave  his  master’s  property  behind  him.  But  such 
was  no  part  of  his  intention.  He  wrenched  a  quar¬ 
ter-staff  from  one  of  the  fellows,  struck  down  the 
Captain,  who  was  altogether  unaware  of  his  pur¬ 
pose,  and  had  well-nigh  repossessed  himself  of  the 
pouch  and  treasure.  The  thieves,  however,  were  too 
nimble  for  him,  and  again  secured  both  the  bag  and 
the  trusty  Gurth. 

“Knave!”  said  the  Captain,  getting  up,  “thou  hast 
broken  my  head;  and  with  other  men  of  our  sort 
thou  wouldst  fare  the  worse  for  thy  insolence.  But 
thou  shalt  know  thy  fate  instantly.  First  let  us 
speak  of  thy  master;  the  knight’s  matters  must  go 
before  the  squire’s,  according  to  due  order  of  chival¬ 
ry.  Stand  thou  fast  in  the  meantime — if  thou  stir 
again,  thou  shalt  have  that  will  make  thee  quiet  for 
life.— Comrades !”  he  then  said,  addressing  his  gang, 
“this  purse  is  embroidered  with  flebrew  characters, 
and  I  well  believe  the  yeoman’s  tale  is  true.  The 
errant  knight,  his  master,  must  needs  pass  us  toll- 
free.  He  is  too  like  ourselves  for  us  to  make  booty 
of  him,  since  dogs  should  not  worry  dogs  where 
wolves  and  foxes  are  to  be  found  in  abundance.” 

“Like  us?”  answered  one  of  the  gang;  “I  should 
like  to  hear  how  that  is  made  good.” 

“Why,  thou  fool,”  answered  the  Captain,  “is  he 
not  poor  and  disinherited  as  we  are? — Doth  he  not 
win  his  substance  at  the  sword’s  point  as  we  do? — - 


IVANHOE 


155 


Hath  he  not  beaten  Front-de-Boeuf  and  Malvoisin, 
even  as  we  would  beat  them  if  we  could?  It  he  not 
the  enemy  to  life  and  death  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guil- 
bert,  whom  we  have  so  much  reason  to  fear?  And 
were  all  this  otherwise,  wouldst  thou  have  us  show 
a  worse  conscience  than  an  unbeliever,  a  Hebrew 
Jew?” 

“Nay,  that  were  a  shame,”  muttered  the  other 
fellow;  “and  yet,  when  I  served  in  the  band  of 
stout  old  Gandelyn,  we  had  no  such  scruples  of  con¬ 
science.  And  this  insolent  peasant, — he  too,  I  war¬ 
rant  me,,  is  to  be  dismissed  scatheless?” 

“Not  if  thou  canst  scathe  him,”  replied  the  Cap¬ 
tain. — “Here,  fellow,”  continued  he,  addressing 
Gurth,  “canst  thou  use  the  staff,  that  thou  startst 
to  it  so  readily?” 

“I  think,”  said  Gurth,  “thou  shouldst  be  best  able 
to  reply  to  that  question.” 

“Nay,  by  my  troth,  thou  gavest  me  a  round 
knock,”  replied  the  Captain;  “do  as  much  for  this 
fellow,  and  thou  shalt  pass  scot-free,  and  if  thou 
dost  not — why,  by  my  faith,  as  thou  art  such  a 
sturdy  knave,  I  think  I  must  pay  thy  ransom  my¬ 
self. — Take  thy  staff,  Miller,”  he  added,  “and  keep 
thy  head ;  .and  do  you  others  let  the  fellow  go,  and 
give  him  a  staff — there  is  light  enough  to  lay  on 
load1  by.” 

The  two  champions  being  alike  armed  with  quar¬ 
ter-staves,  stepped  forward  into  the  center  of  the 
open  space,  in  order  to  have  the  full  benefit  of  the 
moonlight;  the  thieves  in  the  meantime  laughing, 
and  crying  to  their  comrade,  “Miller!  beware  thy 


lrTo  lay  on  strokes,  to  fight. 

Question  :  Are  the  outlaws  introduced  for  the  first 
time  into  the  story?  Has  any  one  of  them  been  seen  be¬ 
fore? 


156 


Ivan  hoe 


toll-dish.”1 2  The  Miller,  on  the  other  hand,  holding 
his  quarter-staff  by  the  middle,  and  making  it  flour¬ 
ish  round  his  head  after  the  fashion  which  the 
French  call  faire  le  moulinet ;  exclaimed  boastful¬ 
ly,  “Come  on,  churl,  an  thou  darest:  thou  shalt  feel 
the  strength  of  a  miller’s  thumb3!” 

“If  thou  be’st  a  miller,”  answered  Gurth,  un¬ 
dauntedly,  making  his  weapon  play  around  his  head 
with  equal  dexterity,  “thou  art  doubly  a  thief,  and 
I,  as  a  true  man,  bid  thee  defiance.” 

So  saying,  the  two  champions  closed  together,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  they  displayed  great  equality  in 
strength,  courage,  and  skill,  intercepting  and  return¬ 
ing  the  blows  of  their  adversary  with  the  most  rapid 
dexterity,  while,  from  the  continued  clatter  of  their 
weapons,  a  person  at  a  distance  might  have  sup¬ 
posed  that  there  were  at  least  six  persons  engaged 
on  each  side.  Less  obstinate,  and  even  less  danger¬ 
ous  combats,  have  been  described  in  good  heroic 
verse;  but  that  of  Gurth  and  the  Miller  must  remain 
unsung,  for  want  of  a  sacred  poet  to  do  justice  to  its 
eventful  progress.  Yet,  though  quarter-staff  play 
be  out  of  date,  what  we  can  in  prose  we  will  do  for 
these  bold  champions. 

Long  they  fought  equally,  until  the  Miller  began 
to  lose  temper  at  finding  himself  so  stoutly  opposed, 
and  at  hearing  the  laughter  of  his  companions,  who 
as  usual  in  such  cases,  enjoyed  his  vexation.  This 
was  not  a  state  of  mind  favorable  to  the  noble  game 
of  quarter-staff,  in  which,  as  in  ordinary  cudgel¬ 
playing,  the  utmost  coolness  is  requisite;  and  it 


aA  dish  for  measuring  grain  tolls,  or  the  miller’s  share 
of  the  grain  ;  the  miller’s  head  is  meant  here. 

2To  play  the  wind  mill. 

“Since  a  miller  used  his  thumb  in  testing  flour,  his  thumb  j 
was  supposed  to  be  large  and  flat. 


Ivan  hoe 


157 


:  gave  Gurth,  whose  temper  was  steady,  though  surly, 
the  opportunity  of  acquiring  a  decided  advantage, 
in  availing  himself  of  which  he  displayed  great 
|  mastery. 

The  Miller  pressed  furiously  forward,  dealing 
blows  with  either  end  of  his  weapon  alternately,  and 
striving  to  come  to  half-staff  distance,  while  Gurth 
!  defended  himself  against  the  attack,  keeping  his 
hands  about  a  yard  asunder,  and  covering  himself 
by  shifting  his  weapon  with  great  celerity,  so  as 
to  protect  his  head  and  body.  Thus  did  he  maintain 
[  the  defensive,  making  his  eye,  foot,  and  hand  keep 
true  time,  until,  observing  his  antagonist  to  lose 
wind,  he  darted  the  staff  at  his  face  with  his  left 
hand;  and  as  the  Miller  endeavored  to  parry  the 
thrust,  he  slid  his  right  hand  down  to  his  left,  and 
I  with  the  full  swing  of  the  weapon  struck  his  oppo- 
;  nent  on  the  left  side  of  the  head,  who  instantly 
measured  his  length  upon  the  greensward. 

“Well  and  yeomanly  done!”  shouted  the  robbers; 
j  “fair  play  and  old  England  forever!  The  Saxon 
:  hath  saved  both  his  purse  and  his  hide,  and  the 
Miller  has  met  his  match.” 

“Thou  mayst  go  thy  ways,  my  friend,”  said  the 
Captain,  addressing  Gurth,  in  special  confirmation 
of  the  general  voice,  “and  I  will  cause  two  of  my 
comrades  to  guide  thee  by  the  best  way  to  thy  mas¬ 
ter’s  pavilion,  and  to  guard  thee  from  night-walk¬ 
ers  that  might  have  less  tender  consciences  than 
ours;  for  there  is  many  one  of  them  upon  the  amble 
in  such  a  night  as  this.  Take  heed,  however,”  he 
il  added  sternly;  “remember  thou  hast  refused  to  tell 
|  thy  name — ask  not  after  ours,  nor  endeavor  to 
I  discover  who  or  what  we  are;  for,  if  thou  makest 
!  such  an  attempt,  thou  wilt  come  by  worse  foitune 
than  has  yet  befallen  thee.” 


158 


IVANHOE 


Gurth  thanked  the  Captain  for  his  courtesy,  and 
promised  to  attend  to  his  recommendation.  Two  of 
the  outlaws,  taking  up  their  quarter-staves  and  de¬ 
siring  Gurth  to  follow  close  in  the  rear,  walked 
roundly  forward  along  a  by-path,  which  traversed 
the  thicket  and  the  broken  ground  adjacent  to  it. 
On  the  very  verge  of  the  thicket  two  men  spoke 
to  his  conductors,  and  receiving  an  answer  in  a 
whisper,  withdrew  into  the  woods,  and  suffered 
them  to  pass  unmolested.  This  circumstance  in¬ 
duced  Gurth  to  believe  both  that  the  gang  was 
strong  in  numbers,  and  that  they  kept  regular 
guards  around  their  place  of  rendezvous. 

When  they  arrived  on  the  open  heath,  where 
Gurth  might  have  had  some  trouble  in  finding  his 
road,  the  thieves  guided  him  straight  forward  to  the 
top  of  a  little  eminence,  whence  he  could  see,  spread 
beneath  him  in  the  moonlight,  the  palisades  of  the 
lists,  the  glimmering  pavilions  pitched  at  either 
end,  with  the  pennons  which  adorned  them  flutter¬ 
ing  in  the  moonbeams,  and  from  which  could  be 
heard  the  hum  of  the  song  with  which  the  sentinels 
were  beguiling  their  night-watch. 

Here  the  thieves  stopt. 

“We  go  with  you  no  farther,”  said  they;  “it  were 
not  safe  that  we  should  do  so. — Remember  the  warn¬ 
ing  you  have  received — keep  secret  what  has  this 
night  befallen  you,  and  you  will  have  no  room  to  re¬ 
pent  it — neglect  what  is  now  told  you,  and  the  Tower 
of  London  shall  not  protect  you  against  our  re- 
venge.,, 

“Good-night  to  you,  kind  sirs,”  said  Gurth;  “I 
shall  remember  your  orders,  and  trust  that  there  is 
no  offense  in  wishing  you  a  safer  and  an  honester 
trade.” 

Thus  they  parted,  the  outlaws  returning  in  the 


I 

IVANHOE  159 

j  direction  from  whence  they  had  come,  and  Gurth 
proceeding  to  the  tent  of  his  master,  to  whom,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  injunction  he  had  received,  he 
;  communicated  the  whole  adventure  of  the  evening. 

The  Disinherited  Knight  waJs  filled  with  astonish¬ 
ment,  no  less  at  the  generosity  of  Rebecca,  by  which, 
however,  he  resolved  he  would  not  profit,  than  that 
of  the  robbers,  to  whose  profession  such  a  quality 
seemed  totally  foreign.  His  course  of  reflections 
upon  these  singular  circumstances  was,  however, 
interrupted  by  the  necessity  for  taking  repose, 
which  the  fatigue  of  the  preceding  day,  and  the 
propriety  of  refreshing  himself  for  the  morrow’s  en¬ 
counter,  rendered  alike  indispensable. 

The  knight,  therefore,  'stretched  himself  for  re¬ 
pose  upon  a  rich  couch  with  which  the  tent  was 
provided;  and  the  faithful;  Gurth,,,  extending  his 
hardy  limbs  upon  a  bear-skin  which  formed  a  sort 
of  carpet  to  the  pavilion,  laid  himself  across  tht 
opening  of  the  tent,  so  that  no  one  could  enter  with¬ 
out  awakening  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  heralds  left  their  pricking  up  and  down, 

Now  ringen  trumpets  loud  and  clarion. 

There  is  no  more  to  say,  but  east  and  west, 

In  go  the  spears  full  sadly  in  the  rest, 

In  go  the  sharp  spur  into  the  side, 

There  are  seen  men  who  can  just  and  who  can  ride ; 
There  shiver  shafts  upon  shieldes  thick, 

He  feeleth  through  the  heart-spoon  the  prick; 

Up  springen  speares,  twenty  feet  in  height, 

Out  go  the  swordes  as  the  silver  bright; 

The  helmes  they  to-hewn  and  to-shred; 

Out  bursts  the  blood  with  stern  streames  red. 

Chatjceb. 

Morning  arose  in  unclouded  splendor,  and  ere  the 
sun  was  much  above  the  horizon,  the  idlest  or  the 
most  eager  of  the  spectators  appeared  on  the  com¬ 
mon,  moving  to  the  lists  as  to  a  general  center,  in 
order  to  secure  a  favorable  situation  for  viewing  the 
continuation  of  the  expected  games. 

The  marshals  and  their  attendants  appeared  next 
on  the  field,  together  with  the  heralds,  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  receiving  the  names  of  the  knights  who  in¬ 
tended  to  joust,  with  the  feide  which  each  chose  to 
espouse.  This  was  a  necessary  precaution,  in  order 
to  secure  equality  betwixt  the  two  bodies  who  should 
be  opposed  to  each  other. 

According  to  due  formality,  the  Disinherited 
Knight  was  to  be  considered  as  leader  of  the  one 
body,  while  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  who  had  been 
rated  a)3  having  done  second-best  in  the  preceding 
day,  was  named  first  champion  of  the  other  band. 
Those  who  had  concurred  in  the  challenge  adhered 
to  his  party  of  course,  excepting  only  Ralph  de 
Vipont,  whom  his  fall  had  rendered  unfit  so  soon  to 
put  on  his  armor*  There  was  no  want  of  distin- 


IVANHOE 


161 


guished  and  noble  candidates  to  fill  up  the  ranks  on 
either  side. 

In  fact,  although  the  general  tournament,  in 
which  all  knights  fought  at  once,  was  more  danger¬ 
ous  than  single  encounters,  they  were  nevertheless, 
more  frequented  and  practiced  by  the  chivalry  of 
the  age.  Many  knights,  who  had  not  sufficient  con¬ 
fidence  in  their  own  skill  to  defy  a  single  adversary 
of  high  reputation,  were,  nevertheless,  desirous  of 
displaying  their  valor  in  the  general  combat,  where 
they  might  meet  others  with  whom  they  were  more 
upon  an  equality.  On  the  present  occasion,  about 
fifty  knights  were  inscribed  as  desirous  of  combat¬ 
ing  upon  each  side,  when  the  marshals  declared  that 
no  more  could  be  admitted,  to  the  disappointment 
of  several  who  were  too  late  in  preferring  their 
claim  to  be  included. 

About  the  hour  of  ten  o’clock,  the  whole  plain  was 
crowded  with  horsemen,  horsewomen,  and  foot-pas¬ 
sengers,  hastening  to  the  tournament;  and  shortly 
after,  a  grand  flourish  of  trumpets  announced 
Prince  John  and  his  retinue  attended  by  many  of 
those  knights  who  meant  to  take  share  in  the  game, 
as  well  as  others  who  had  no  such  intention. 

About  the  same  time  arrived  Cedric  the  Saxon, 
with  the  Lady  Rowena,  unattended,  however,  'by 
Athelstane.  This  Saxon  lord  had  arrayed  his  talJ 
and  strong  person  in  armor,  in  order  to  take  his 
place  among  the  combatants;  and,  considerably  to 
the  surprise  of  Cedric,  had  chosen  to  enlist  himself 
on  the  part  of  the  Knight  Templar.  The  Saxon, 
indeed,  had  remonstrated  strongly  wth  his  friend 
upon  the  injudicious  choice  he  had  made  of  his 
party;  but  he  had  only  received  that  sort  of  answer 
usually  given  by  those  who  are  more  obstinate  in 


162 


IVANHOE 


following  their  own  course,  than  strong  in  justify¬ 
ing  it.  . 

His  best,  if  not  his  only  reason,  for  adhering  to 
the  party  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  Athelstane  had 
the  prudence  to  keep  to  himself.  Though  his  apathy 
of  disposition  prevented  his  taking  any  means  to 
recommend  himself  to  the  Lady  Rowena,  he  was, 
nevertheless,  by  no  means  insensible  to  her  charms, 
and  considered  his  union  with  her  as  a  matter  al¬ 
ready  fixed  beyond  doubt,  by  the  assent  of  Cedric 
and  her  other  friends.  It  had  therefore  been  with 
smothered  displeasure  that  the  proud  though  indo¬ 
lent  Lord  Coningsburgh  beheld  the  victor  of  the 
preceding  day  select  Rowena  as  the  object  of  that 
honor  which  it  became  his  privilege  to  confer.  In 
order  to  punish  him  for  a  preference  which  seemed 
to  interfere  with  his  own  suit,  Athelstane,  confident 
of  his  strength,  and  to  whom  his  flatterers,  at  least, 
ascribed  great  skill  in  arms,  had  determined  not 
only  to  deprive  the  Disinherited  Knight  of  his  pow¬ 
erful  succor,  but,  if  an  opportunity  should  occur,  to 
make  him  feel  the  weight  of  his  battle-ax. 

De  Bracy,  and  other  knights  attached  to  Prince 
John,  in  obedience  to  a  hint  from  him,  had  joined 
the  party  of  the  challengers,  John  being  desirous  to 
secure,  if  possible,  the  victory  to  that  side.  On  the 
other  hand,  many  other  knights,  both  English  and 
Norman,  natives  and  strangers,  took  part  against 
the  challengers,  the  more  readily  that  the  opposite 
band  was  to  be  led  by  so  distinguished  a  champion 
as  the  Disinherited  Knight  had  approved  himself. 

As  isoon  as  Prince  John  observed  that  the  destined 
Queen  of  the  day  had  arrived  upon  the  *Wd,  assum¬ 
ing  that  air  of  courtesy  which  sat  well  upon  him, 
when  he  was  pleased  to  exhibit  it,  he  rode  forward 
to  meet  her,  doffed  his  bonnet,  and  alighting  from 


IVANHOE 


163 


j 

Ihis  horse,  assisted  the  Lady  Rowena  from  her  saddle, 
while  his  followers  uncovered  at  the  same  time,  and 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  dismounted  to  hold 
:  her  palfrey. 

“It  is  thus,”  said  Prince  John,  “that  we  set  the 

!  dutiful  example  of  loyalty  to  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
"Beauty,  and  are  ourselves  her  guide  to  the  throne 
which  she  must  this  day  occupy. — Ladies,”  he  said, 

,  “attend  your  Queen,  as  you  wish  in  your  turn  to  be 
distinguished  by  like  honors.” 

So  saying,  the  Prince  marshaled  Rowena  to  the 
seat  of  honor  opposite  his  own,  while  the  fairest  and 
most  distinguished  ladies  present  crowded  after  her 
to  obtain  places  as  near  as  possible  to  their  tem¬ 
porary  sovereign. 

No  sooner  was  Rowena  seated,  than  a  burst  of 
music,  half-drowned  by  the  shouts  of  the  multitude, 
greeted  her  new  dignity.  Meantime,  the  sun  shone 
fierce  and  bright  upon  the  polished  arms  of  the 
|  knights  of  either  side,  who  crowded  the  opposite  ex¬ 
tremities  of  the  lists,  and  held  eager  conference  to- 
i  gether  concerning  the  best  mode  of  arranging  their 
I  line  of  battle,  and  supporting  the  conflict. 

The  heralds  then  proclaimed  silence  until  the 
j  laws  of  the  tourney  should  be  rehearsed.  These 
were  calculated  in  some  degree  to  abate  the  dangers 
of  the  day;  a  precaution  the  more  necessary,  as  the 
conflict  was  to  be  maintained  with  sharp  swords  and 
pointed  lances. 

The  champions  were  therefore  prohibited  to 
thrust  with  the  sword,  and  were  confined  to  strik- 
1  ing.  A  knight,  it  was  announced,  might  use  a  mace 
or  battle-ax  at  pleasure,  but  the  dagger  was  a  pro¬ 
hibited  weapon.  A  knight  unhorsed  might  renew 

I  Question  :  What  was  Athelstane’s  real  reason  for  choos- 
I  ing  to  be  one  of  the  party  of  Brian  de  Bois-Gilbert? 


164 


IVANHOE 


the  fight  on  foot  with  any  other  on  the  opposite  side 
in  the  same  predicament;  but  mounted  horsemen 
were  in  that  case  forbidden  to  assail  him.  When 
any  knight  could  force  his  antagonist  to  the  extremi¬ 
ty  of  the  lists,  so  as  to  touch  the  palisade  with  his 
person  or  arms,  such  opponent  was  obliged  to  yield 
himself  vanquished,  and  his  armor  and  horse  were 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  conqueror.  A  knight 
thus  overcome  was  not  permitted  to  take  farther 
share  in  the  combat.  If  any  combatant  was  struck 
down,  and  unable  to  recover  his  feet,  his  squire  or 
page  might  enter  the  lists,  and  drag  his  master  out 
of  the  press ;  but  in  that  case  the  knight  was  ad¬ 
judged  vanquished,  and  his  arms  and  horse  declared 
forfeited.  The  combat  was  to  cease  as  soon  as 
Prince  John  should  throw  down  his  leading  staff,  or 
truncheon ;  another  precaution  usually  taken  to  pre¬ 
vent  the  unnecessary  effusion  of  blood  by  the  too 
long  endurance  of  a  sport  so  desperate.  Any  knight 
breaking  the  rules  of  the  tournament,  or  otherwise 
transgressing  the  rules  of  honorable  chivalry,  was 
liable  to  be  stripped  of  his  arms,  and,  having  his 
shield  reversed,  to  be  placed  in  that  posture  astride 
upon  the  bars  of  the  palfsade,  and  exposed  to  public 
derision,  in  punishment  of  his  unknightly  conduct. 
Having  announced  these  precautions,  the  heralds 
concluded  with  an  exhortation  to  each  knight  to  do 
his  duty,  and  to  merit  favor  from  the  Queen  of 
Beauty  and  Love. 

This  proclamation  having  been  made,  the  heralds 
withdrew  to  their  stations.  The  knights,  entering 
at  either  end  of  the  lists  in  long  procession,  ar¬ 
ranged  themselves  in  a  double  file,  precisely  opposite 
to  each  other,  the  leader  of  each  party  being  in  the 

Question  :  What  were  the  rules  of  the  combat  for  the 
second  day? 


Ivan  hoe 


165 


center  of  the  foremost  rank,  a  post  which  he  did  not 
occupy  until  each  had  carefully  arranged  the  ranks 
of  his  party,  and  stationed  every  one  in  his  place. 

It  was  a  goodly,  and  at  the  same  time  an  anxious, 
sight,  to  behold  so  many  gallant  champions, 
mounted  bravely,  and  armed  richly,  stand  ready  pre¬ 
pared  for  an  encounter  so  formidable,  seated  on 
their  war-saddles  like  so  many  pillars  of  iron,  and 
awaiting  the  -signal  of  encounter  with  the  same 
;  ardor  as  their  generous  steeds,  which,  by  neighing 
!  and  pawing  the  ground,  gave  signal  of  their  im¬ 
patience. 

As  yet  the  knights  held  their  long  lances  upright, 
their  bright  points  glancing  to  the  sun,  and  the 
!  streamers  with  which  they  were  decorated  flutter- 
!  ing  over  the  plumage  of  the  helmets.  Thus  they 
i  remained  while  the  marshals  of  the  field  surveyed 
their  ranks  with  the  utmost  exactness,  lest  either 
party  had  more  or  fewer  than  the  appointed  num¬ 
ber.  The  tale  was  found  exactly  complete.  The 
marshals  then  withdrew  from  the  lists,  and  William 
de  Wyvil,  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  pronounced  the 
signal  words — Laissez  aller!1  The  trumpets  sounded 
as  he  spoke — the  spears  of  the  champions  were  at 
once  lowered  and  placed  in  the  rests — the  spurs 
were  dashed  into  the  flanks  of  the  horses,  and  the 
two  foremost  ranks  of  either  party  rushed  upon 
each  other  in  full  gallop,  and  met  in  the  middle  of 
the  lists  with  a  shock,  the  sound  of  which  was  heard 
at  a  mile’s  distance.  The  rear  rank  of  each  party 
advanced  at  a  slower  pace  to  sustain  the  defeated, 
and  follow  up  the  succecs  of  the  victors  of  their 
party. 

The  consequences  of  the  encounter  were  not  in¬ 
stantly  seen,  for  the  dust  raised  by  the  trampling 


'Let  go. 


166 


IVANHOE 


of  so  many  steeds  darkened  the  air,  and  it  was  a 
minute  ere  the  anxious  spectators  could  see  the  late 
of  the  encounter.  When  the  fight  became  visible, 
half  the  knights  on  each  side  were  dismounted,  some 
by  the  dexterity  of  their  adversary's  lance, — some 
by  the  superior  weight  and  strength  of  opponents, 
which  had  borne  down  both  horse  and  man, — some 
lay  stretched  on  earth  as  if  never  more  to  rise,- — 
some  had  already  gained  their  feet,  and  were  clos¬ 
ing  hand  to  hand  with  those  of  their  antagonists 
who  were  in  the  same  predicament, — and  several  on 
both  sides,  who  had  received  wounds  by  which  they 
were  disabled,  were  stopping  their  blood  by  their 
scarfs,  and  endeavoring  to  extricate  themselves 
from  the  tumult.  The  mounted  knights,  whose 
lances  had  been  almost  all  broken  by  the  fury  of 
the  encounter,  were  now  closely  engaged  with  their 
swords,  shouting  their  war-cries,  and  exchanging 
buffets,  as  if  honor  and  life  depended  on  the  issue 
of  the  combat. 

The  tumult  was  presently  increased  by  the  ad¬ 
vance  of  the  second  rank  on  either  side,  which,  act¬ 
ing  as  a  reserve,  now  rushed  on  to  aid  their  com¬ 
panions.  The  followers  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert 
shouted:  “Ha!  Beau-seant!1  Beau-seant! — For  the 
Temple — For  the  Temple!”  The  opposite  party 
shouted  in  answer — “Desdichado!  Desdichado!” — 
which  watchword  they  took  from  the  motto  upon 
their  leader’s  shield. 

The  champions  thus  encountering  each  other  with 
the  utmost  fury,  and  with  alternate  success  the  tide 
of  battle  seemed  to  flow  now  toward  the  southern, 

lt4Beau  seant  was  the  name  of  the  Templar’s  banner, 
which  was  half  black  and  half  white  to  intimate,  it  is 
said,  that  they  were  candid  and  fair  toward  Christians,  but 
black  and  terrible  toward  infidels.” — Scott. 


IVANHOE 


167 


now  toward  the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  as 
the  one  or  the  other  party  prevailed.  Meantime  the 
clang  of  the  blows,  and  the  shouts  of  the  combat¬ 
ants,  mixed  fearfully  with  the  sound  of  the  trum- 
!  pets,  and  drowned  the  groans  of  those  who  fell  and 
lay  rolling  defenseless  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
horses.  The  splendid  armor  of  the  combatants  was 
|  now  defaced  with  dust  and  blood,  and  gave  way  at 
every  stroke  of  the  sword  and  battle-ax.  The  gay 
plumage,  shorn  from  the  crests,  drifted  upon  the 
|  breeze  like  snowflakes.  All  that  was  beautiful  and 
graceful  in  the  martial  array  had  disappeared,  and 
what  was  now  visible  was  only  calculated  to  awake 
terror  or  compassion. 

Yet  such  is  the  force  of  habit,  that  not  only  the 
vulgar  spectators,  who  are  naturally  attracted  by 
|  sights  of  horror,  but  even  the  ladies  of  distinction, 
who  crowded  the  galleries,  saw  the  conflict  with  a 
thrilling  interest  certainly,  but  without  a  wish  to 
withdraw  their  eyes  from  a  sight  so  terrible.  Here 
and  there,  indeed,  a  fair  cheek  might  turn  pale,  or 
a  faint  scream  might  be  heard,  as  a  lover,  a  brother, 
or  a  husband,  tvas  struck  from  his  horse.  But,  in 
general,  the  ladies  around  encouraged  the  combat- 
j  ants,  not  only  by  clapping  their  hands  and  waving 
their  veils  and  kerchiefs,  but  even  by  exclaiming, 
“Brave  lance!  Good  sword!”  when  any  successful 
thrust  or  blow  took  place  under  their  observation. 

Such  being  the  interest  taken  by  the  fair  sex  in 
this  bloody  game,  that  of  the  men  is  the  more  easily 
understood.  It  showed  itself  in  loud  acclamations 
upon  every  change  of  fortune,  while  all  eyes  were 
|!  so  riveted  on  the  lists,  that  the  spectators  seemed  as 
jj  if  they  themselves  had  dealt  and  received  the  blows 
I  which  were  there  so  freely  bestowed.  And  between 
every  pause  was  heard  the  voice  of  the  heralds,  ex- 


168 


IVANHOE 


claiming,  “Fight  on,  brave  knights!  Mjan  dies,  but 
glory  lives ! — Fight  on — death  is  better  than  defeat ! 
— Fight  on,  brave  knights! — for  bright  eyes  behold 
your  deeds!” 

Amid  the  varied  fortunes  of  the  combat,  the  eyes 
of  all  endeavored  to  discover  the  leaders  of  each 
band,  who,  mingling  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  en¬ 
couraged  their  companions  both  by  voice  and  ex¬ 
ample.  Both  displayed  great  feats  of  gallantry,  nor 
did  either  Bois-Guilbert  or  the  Disinherited  Knight 
find  in  the  ranks  opposed  to  them  a  champion  who 
could  be  termed  their  unquestioned  match.  They 
repeatedly  endeavored  to  single  out  each  other, 
spurred  by  mutual  animosity,  and  aware  that  the 
fall  of  either  leader  might  be  considered  as  decisive 
of  victory.  Such,  however,  was  the  crowd  and  con¬ 
fusion,  that,  during  the  earlier  part  of  the  conflict, 
their  efforts  to  meet  were  unavailing,  and  they  were 
repeatedly  separated  by  the  eagerness  of  their  fol¬ 
lowers,  each  of  whom  was  anxious  to  win  honor,  by 
measuring  his  strength  against  the  leader  of  the 
opposite  party. 

But  when  the  field  became  thin  by  the  numbers 
on  either  side  who  had  yielded  themselves  van¬ 
quished,  had  been  compelled  to  the  extremity  of  the 
lists,  or  been  otherwise  rendered  incapable  of  con¬ 
tinuing  the  strife,  the  Templar  and  the  Disinherited 
Knight  at  length  encountered  hand  to  hand,  with  all 
the  fury  that  mortal  animosity,  joined  to  rivalry  of 
honor,  could  inspire.  Such  was  the  address  of  each 
in  parrying  and  striking,  that  the  spectators  broke 
forth  into  a  unanimous  and  involuntary  shout,  ex¬ 
pressive  of  their  delight  and  admiration. 

But  at  this  moment  the  party  of  the  Disinherited 
Knight  had  the  worst;  the  gigantic  arm  of  Front-de- 
Bceuf  on  the  one  flank,  and  the  ponderous  strength 


IVANHOE 


169 


of  Athelstane  on  the  other,  bearing  down  and  dis¬ 
persing  those  immediately  exposed  to  them.  Find¬ 
ing  themselves  freed  from  their  immediate  antago¬ 
nists,  it  seems  to  have  occurred  to  both  these 
knights  at  the  same  instant  that  they  would  render 
the  most  decisive  advantage  to  their  party,  by  aid¬ 
ing  the  Templar  in  his  contest  with  his  rival.  Turn¬ 
ing  their  horses,  therefore,  at  the  same  moment,  the 
Norman  spurred  against  the  Disinherited  Knight 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  Saxon  on  the  other.  It  was 
utterly  impossible  that  the  object  of  this  unequal 
;  and  unexpected  assault  could  have  sustained  it,  had 
he  not  been  warned  by  a  general  cry  from  the  spec¬ 
tators,  who  could  not  but  take  interest  in  one  ex¬ 
posed  to  such  disadvantage. 

“Beware  I  beware!  Sir  Disinherited !”•  was 
shouted  so  universally,  that  the  knight  became 
aware  of  his  danger;  and,  (striking  a  full  blow  at  the 
Templar,  he  reined  back  his  steed  in  the  same  mo¬ 
ment,  so  as  to  escape  the  charge  of  Athelstane  and 
Front-de-Boeuf.  These  knights,  therefore,  their  aim 
being  thus  eluded,  rushed  from  opposite  sides  be¬ 
twixt  the  object  of  their  attack  and  the  Templar,  al¬ 
most  running  their  horses  against  each  other  ere 
they  could  'stop  their  career.  Recovering  their 
horses,  and  wheeling  them  round,  the  whole  three 
pursued  their  united  purpose  of  bearing  to  the  earth 
the  Disinherited  Knight. 

Nothing  could  have  saved  him,  except  the  remark¬ 
able  strength  and  activity  of  the  noble  horse  which 
he  had  won  on  the  preceding  day. 

This  stood  him  in  the  more  stead,  as  the  horse  of 
Bois-Guilbert  was  wounded,  and  those  of  Front-de- 
Boeuf  and  Athelstane  were  both  tired  with  the 
weight  of  their  gigantic  masters,  clad  in  complete 
armor,  and  with  the  preceding  exertions  of  the  day. 


170 


IVANHOE 


The  masterly  horsemanship  of  the  Disinherited 
Knight,  and  the  activity  of  the  noble  animal  which 
he  mounted,  enabled  him  for  a  few  minutes  to  keep 
at  sword’s  point  his  three  antagonists,  turning  and 
wheeling  with  the  agility  of  a  hawk  upon  the  wing, 
keeping  his  enemies  as  far  separate  as  he  could,  and 
rushing  now  against  the  one,  now  against  the  other, 
dealing  sweeping  blowis  with  his  sword,  without 
waiting  to  receive  those  which  were  aimed  at  him 
in  return. 

But  although  the  lists  rang  with  the  applauses 
of  his  dexterity,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  at  least 
be  overpowered;  and  the  nobles  around  Prince  John 
implored  him  with  one  voice  to  throw  down  his 
warder,  and  to  save  so  brave  a  knight  from  the  dis¬ 
grace  of  being  overcome  by  odds. 

“Not  I,  by  the  light  of  heaven!”  answered  Prince 
John;  “this  same  (springal,  who  conceals  his  name, 
and  despises  our  proffered  hospitality,  hath  already 
gained  one  prize,  and  may  now  afford  to  let  others 
have  their  turn.”  As  he  spoke  thus,  an  unexpected 
incident  changed  the  fortune  of  the  day. 

There  was  among  the  ranks  of  the  Disinherited 
Knight  a  champion  in  black  armor,  mounted  on  a 
black  horse,  large  of  size,  tall,  and  to  all  appeal  ance 
powerful  and  strong,  like  the  rider  by  whom  he  was 
mounted.  This  knight,  who  bore  on  his  hield  no 
device  of  any  kind,  had  hitherto  evinced  very  little 
interest  in  the  event  of  the  fight,  beating  off  with 
seeming  ease  those  combatants  who  attacked  him, 
but  neither  pursuing  his  advantages,  nor  himself 
assailing  any  one.  In  short,  he  had  hitherto  acted 
the  part  rather  of  a  spectator  than  of  a  party  in 
the  tournament,  a  circumstance  which  procured  him 
among  the  spectators  the  name  of  Le  Noir  Faineant , 
or  the  Black  Sluggard. 


IVANHOE 


171 


At  once  this  knight  seemed  to  throw  aside  his 
apathy,  when  he  discovered  the  leader  of  his  party 
so  hard  bested ;  for,  setting  spurs  to  his  horse,  which 
was  quite  fresh,  he  came  to  his  assistance  like  a 
thunderbolt,  exclaiming,  in  a  voice  like  a  trumpet- 
call,  “Desdichado,  to  the  rescue !”  It  was  high 
time;  for,  while  the  Disinherited  Knight  was  press¬ 
ing  upon  the  Templar,  Front-de-Bceuf  had  got  nigh 
to  him  with  his  uplifted  sword;  but  ere  the  blow 
could  descend,  the  Sable  Knight  dealt  a  stroke  on 
his  head,  which,  glancing  from  the  polished  helmet, 
lighted  with  violence  scarcely  abated  on  the  cham- 
fro.i,1  of  the  steed,  and  Front-de-Boeuf  rolled  on  the 
ground,  both  horse  and  man  equally  stunned  by  the 
fury  of  the  blow.  Le  Noir  Faineant  then  turned  his 
horse  upon  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh ;  and  his 
own  sword  having  been  broken  in  his  encounter 
with  Front-de-Boeuf,  he  wrenched  from  the  hand  of 
the  bulky  Saxon  the  battle-ax  which  he  wielded, 
and  like  one  familiar  with  the  use  of  the  weapon, 
bestowed  him  (such  a  blow  upon  the  crest,  that 
Athelstane  also  lay  senseless  on  the  field.  Having 
achieved  this  double  feat,  for  which  he  was  the 
more  highly  applauded  that  it  was  totally  unex¬ 
pected  from  him,  the  knight  seemed  to  resume  the 
sluggishness  of  his  character,  returning  calmly  to 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  leaving  hi>3  lead¬ 
er  to  cope  as  he  best  could  with  Brian  de  Bois-Guil- 
bert.  This  was  no  longer  matter  of  so  much  difficul¬ 
ty  as  formerly.  The  Templar’s  horse  had  bled  much, 
and  gave  way  under  the  shock  of  the  Disinherited 
Knight’s  charge.  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  rolled  on 
the  field,  encumbered  with  the  stirrup,  from  which 
he  was  unable  to  draw  his  foot.  His  antagonist 
sprung  from  horseback,  waved  his  fatal  sword  over 

Armor  protecting  the  forehead. 


172 


IVANHOE 


the  head  of  his  adversary,  and  commanded  him  to  i 
yield  himself;  when  Prince  John,  more  moved  by 
the  Templar’s  dangerous  situation  than  he  had  been 
by  that  of  his  rival,  saved  him  the  mortification  of 
confessing  himself  vanquished,  by  casting  down  his 
warder,  and  putting  an  end  to  the  conflict. 

It  was,  indeed,  only  the  relics  and  embers  of  the 
fight  which  continued  to  burn;  for  of  the  few 
knights  who  still  continued  in  the  lists,  the  greater 
part  had,  by  tacit  consent,  forborne  the  conflict  for 
some  time,  leaving  it  to  be  determined  by  the  strife 
of  the  leaders. 

The  squires,  who  had  found  it  a  matter  of  danger 
and  difficulty  to  attend  their  masters  during  the  en¬ 
gagement,  now  thronged  into  the  lists  to  pay  their 
dutiful  attendance  to  the  wounded,  who  were  re¬ 
moved  with  the  utmost  care  and  attention  to  the 
neighboring  pavilions,  or  to  the  quarters  prepared 
for  them  in  the  adjoining  village. 

Thus  ended  the  memorable  field  of  Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche,  one  of  the  most  gallantly  contested  tourna¬ 
ments  of  that  age;  for  although  only  four  knights, 
including  one  who  was  smothered  by  the  heat  of  his 
armor,  had  died  upon  the  field,  yet  upwards  of 
thirty  were  desperately  wounded,  four  or  five  of 
whom  never  recovered.  Several  more  were  disabled 
for  life;  and  those  who  escaped  best  carried  the 
marks  of  the  conflict  to  the  grave  with  them.  Hence 
it  is  always  mentioned  in  the  old  records,  as  the 
Gentle  and  Joyous  Passage  of  Arms  of  Ashby. 

It  being  now  the  duty  of  Prince  John  to  name  the 
knight  who  had  done  best,  he  determined  that  the 
honor  of  the  day  remained  with  the  knight  whom 
the  popular  voice  had  termed  Le  Noir  Faineant.  It 
was  pointed  out  to  the  Prince,  in  impeachment  of 
this  decree,  that  the  victory  had  been  in  fact  won  by 


Ivan  hoe 


173 


the  Disinherited  Knight,  who,  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  had  overcome  six  champions  with  his  own  hand, 
and  who  had  finally  unhorsed  and  struck  down  the 
leader  of  the  opposite  party.  But  Prince  John  ad¬ 
hered  to  his  own  opinion,  on  the  ground  that  the 
Disinherited  Knight  and  his  party  had  lost  the  day 
but  for  the  powerful  assistance  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Black  Armor,  to  whom,  therefore,  he  persisted  in 
awarding  the  prize. 

To  the  surprise  of  all  present,  however,  the  knight 
thus  preferred  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  He  had 
left  the  lists  immediately  when  the  conflict  ceased, 
and  had  been  observed  by  some  spectators  to  move 
down  one  of  the  forest  glades  with  the  same  slow 
pace  and  listless  and  indifferent  manner  which  had 
procured  him  the  epithet  of  the  Black  Sluggard. 
After  he  had  been  summoned  twice  by  sound  of 
trumpet,  and  proclamation  of  the  heralds,  it  became 
necessary  to  name  another  to  receive  the  honors 
'  which  had  been  assigned  to  him.  Prince  John  had 
now  no  further  excuse  for  resisting  the  claim  of  the 
Disinherited  Knight  whom,  therefore,  he  named  the 
champion  of  the  day. 

Through  a  field  slippery  with  blood,  and  encum¬ 
bered  with  broken  armor  and  the  bodies  of  slain 
and  wounded  horses,  the  marshals  of  the  lists  again 
conducted  the  victor  to  the  foot  of  Prince  John's 
throne. 

“Disinherited  Knight,"  said  Prince  John,  “since 
by  that  title  only  you  will  consent  to  be  known  to  us, 
we  a  second  time  award  to  you  the  honors  of  this 
tournament,  and  announce  to  you  your  right  to 
claim  and  receive  from  the  hand*"  of  the  Queen  of 
Love  and  Beauty  the  Chaplet  of  Honor  which  your 
valor  has  justly  deserved.”  The  Knight  bowed  low 
and  gracefully,  but  returned  no  answer. 


174 


IVANHOE 


While  the  trumpets  sounded,  while  the  heralds 
strained  their  voices  in  proclaiming  honor  to  the 
brave  and  glory  to  the  victor,  while  ladies  waved 
their  silken  kerchiefs  and  embroidered  veils,  and 
while  all  ranks  joined  in  a  clamorous  shout  of  ex¬ 
ultation,  the  marshals  conducted  the  Disinherited 
Knight  across  the  lists  to  the  foot  of  that  throne  of 
honor  which  was  occupied  by  the  Lady  Rowena. 

On  the  lower  step  of  this  throne  the  champion 
was  made  to  kneel  down.  Indeed,  his  whole  action 
since  the  fight  had  ended  seemed  rather  to  have  been 
upon  the  impulse  of  those  around  him  than  from 
his  own  free  will;  and  it  was  observed  that  he  tot¬ 
tered  as  they  guided  him  the  second  time  across  the 
lists.  Rowena,  descending  from  her  station  with  a 
graceful  and  dignified  step,  was  about  to  place  the 
chaplet  which  she  held  in  her  hand  upon  the  helmet 
of  the  champion,  when  the  marshals  exclaimed  with 
one  voice,  “It  must  not  be  thus — his  head  must  fie 
bare.”  The  knight  muttered  faintly  a  few  words 
which  were  lost  in  the  hollow  of  his  helmet,  but 
their  purport  seemed  to  be  a  desire  that  his  casque 
might  not  be  removed. 

Whether  from  love  of  form,  or  from  curiosity,  the 
marshals  paid  no  attention  to  his  expression  of  re¬ 
luctance,  but  unhelmed  him  by  cutting  the  laces  of 
his  casque,  and  undoing  the  fastening  of  his  gorget. 
When  the  helmet  was  removed,  the  well-formed,  yet 
sunburnt  features  of  a  young  man  of  twenty-five 
were  seen,  amidst  a  profusion  of  short  fair  hair. 
His  countenance  was  as  pale  as  death,  and  marked 
in  one  or  two  places  with  streaks  of  blood. 

Rowena  had  no  sooner  beheld  him  than  she  ut¬ 
tered  a  faint  shriek;  but  at  once  summoning  up  the 
energy  of  her  disposition,  and  compelling  herself,  as 
it  were,  to  proceed,  while  her  frame  yet  trembled 


IVANHOE 


175 


with  the  violence  of  sudden  emotion,  she  placed  up¬ 
on  the  drooping  head  of  the  victor  the  splendid 
chaplet  which  was  the  destined  reward  of  the  day, 
and  pronounced,  in  a  clear  and  distinct  tone,  these 
words  :  “I  bestow  on  thee  this  chaplet,  Sir  Knight, 
as  the  meed  of  valor  assigned  to  this  day’s  victor.” 
Here  she  paused  a  moment,  and  then  firmly  added, 
“And  upon  brows  more  worthy  could  a  wreath  ef 
chivalry  never  be  placed!” 

The  knight  stooped  his  head,  and  kissed  the  hand 
of  the  lovely  Sovereign  by  whom  his  valor  had  been 
rewarded;  and  then,  sinking  yet  further  forward, 
lay  prostrate  at  her  feet. 

There  was  a  general  consternation.  Cedric,  who 
had  been  struck  mute  by  the  sudden  appearance  "of 
his  banished  son.  now  rushed  forward,  as  if  to  sep¬ 
arate  him  from  Rowena.  But  this  had  been  already 
accomplished  by  the  marshals  of  the  field,  who, 
guessing  the  cause  of  Ivanhoe’s  swoon,  had  hartenefl 
to  undo  his  armor,  and  found  that  the  head  of  a 
lance  had  penetrated  his  breastplate,  and  inflicted  a 
wound  in  his  side. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


“Heroes,  approach !”  Atrides  thus  aloud, 

“Stand  forth  distinguish’d  from  the  circling  crowd, 

Ye  who  by  skill  or  manly  force  may  claim, 

Your  rivals  to  surpass  and  merit  fame. 

This  cow,  worth  twenty  oxen  is  decreed, 

For  him  who  farthest  sends  the  winged  reed.” 

Iliad. 

The  name  of  Ivanhoe  was  no  sooner  pronounced 
than  it  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  with  all  the  celer¬ 
ity  with  which  eagerness  could  convey  and  curios¬ 
ity  receive  it.  It  was  not  long  ere  it  reached  the 
circle  of  the  Prince,  whose  brow  darkened  as  he 
heard  the  news.  Looking  around  him,  however,  with 
an  air  of  scorn,  “My  Lords.”  said  he,  “and  espe¬ 
cially  you,  Sir  Prior,  what  think  ye  of  the  doctrine 
the  learned  tell  us,  concerning  innate  attractions 
and  antipathies?  Methinks  that  I  felt  the  presence 
of  my  brother’s  minion,  even  when  I  least  guessed 
whom  yonder  suit  of  armor  inclosed.” 

“Front-de-Bceuf  must  prepare  to  restore  his  fief 
of  Ivanhoe,”  said  De  Bracy,  who.  having  discharged 
his  part  honorably  in  the  tournament,  had  laid  his 
shield  and  helmet  aside,  and  again  mingled  with  the 
Prince’s  retinue. 

“Av.”  answered  Waldemar  Fitzurse,  “this  gal¬ 
lant  is  likely  to  reclaim  the  castle  and  manor  which 
Richard  assigned  to  him,  and  which  your  Highness’s 
generosity  has  since  given  to  Front-de-Bceuf.” 

“Front-de-Boenf.”  replied  John,  “is  a  man  more 
willing  to  swallow  three  manors  such  as  Ivanhoe 
than  to  disgorge  one  of  them.  For  the  rest,  sirs.  I 


Question:  Trace  the  references  to  the  missing  son  of 
Cedric  and  to  items  that  point  to  the  identity  of  Ivanhoe. 


IVANHOE 


177 


hope  none  here  will  deny  my  right  to  confer  the  fiefs 
of  the  crown  upon  the  faithful  followers  who  are 
around  me,  and  ready  to  perform  the  usual  military 
service,  in  the  room  of  those  who  have  wandered  to 
foreign  countries  and  can  neither  render  homage 
nor  service  when  called  upon.” 

The  audience  were  too  much  interested  in  the 
question  not  to  pronounce  the  Prince's  assumed 
right  altogether  indubitable.  “A  generous  Prince! 

a  most  noble  Lord,  who  thus  takes  upon  himself 
the  task  of  rewarding  his  faithful  followers!” 

Such  were  the  words  which  burst  from  the  train, 
expectants  all  of  them  of  similar  grants  at  the  ex¬ 
pense  of  King  Richard’s  followers  and  favorites,  if 
indeed  they  had  not  as  yet  received  such.  Prior 
Aymer  also  assented  to  the  general  proposition,  ob¬ 
serving,  however,  “That  the  blessed  Jerusalem 
could  not  indeed  be  termed  a  foreign  country.  She 
was  communis  mater 1 2 — the  mother  of  all  Christians. 
But  he  saw  not,”  he  declared,  “how  the  Knights  of 
Ivanhoe  could  plead  any  advantage  from  this,  since 
he”  (the  Prior)  “was  assured  that  the  crusaders, 
under  Richard,  had  never  proceeded  much  farther 
than  Askalon3  which,  as  all  the  world  knew,  was  a 
town  of  the  Philistines,  and  entitled  to  none  of  the 
privileges  of  the  Holy  City.” 

Waldemar,  whose  curiosity  had  led  him  towards 
the  place  where  Ivanhoe  had  fallen  to  the  ground, 
now  returned.  “The  gallant,”  said  he,  “is  likely 
to  give  your  Highness  little  disturbance,  and  to 


’Common  mother. 

2A  city  on  the  Mediterranean  belonging  to  the  Philistines 
in  Rible  times. 

Question  :  Whom  does  Ivanhoe’s  appearance  disturb? 
Why? 


178 


IVANHOE 


leave  Front-de-Boeuf  in  the  quiet  possession  of  his 
gains — he  is  severely  wounded/’ 

“Whatever  becomes  of  him,”  said  Prince  John, 
“he  is  victor  of  the  day;  and  were  he  tenfold  cur 
enemy,  or  the  devoted  friend  of  our  brother,  which 
is  perhaps  the  same,  his  wounds  must  be  looked  to — 
our  own  physician  shall  attend  him.” 

A  stern  smile  curled  the  Prince’s  lip  as  he  spokt, 
Waidemar  Fitzurse  hastened  to  reply  that  Ivanhoe 
was  already  removed  from  the  lists,  and  in  the  cus¬ 
tody  of  his  friends. 

“I  was  somewhat  afflicted,”  he  said,  “to  see  the 
grief  of  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  whose  sov¬ 
ereignty  of  a  day  this  event  has  changed  into  mourn¬ 
ing.  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  moved  bv  a  woman’s 
lament  for  her  lover,  but  this  same  Lady  Rowena 
suppressed  her  sorrow  with  such  dignity  of  manner, 
that  it  could  only  be  discovered  by  her  folded  hands, 
and  her  tearless  eye,  which  trembled  as  it  remained 
fixed  on  the  lifeless  form  before  her.” 

“Who  is  this  Lady  Rowena/’  said  Prince  John, 
“of  whom  we  have  heard  so  much?” 

“A  Saxon  heiress  of  large  possessions,”  replied 
the  Prior  Aymer;  “a  rose  of  loveliness,  and  a  jewel 
of  wealth;  the  fairest  among  a  thousand,  a  bundle  of 
myrrh,  and  a  cluster  of  camphire.” 

“We  sliall  cheer  her  sorrows.”  said  Prince  John, 
“and  amend  her  blood,  by  wedding  her  to  a  Norman. 
She  seems  a  minor  and  must  therefore  be  at  our 
royal  disposal  in  marriage. — How  sayst  thou,  De 
Bracy?  What  thinkest  thou  of  gaining  fair  lands 
and  livings,  by  wedding  a  Saxon,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  followers  of  the  Conqueror?” 

“If  the  lands  are  to  my  liking,  my  lord,”  answered 
De  Bracy,  “it  will  be  hard  to  displease  me  with  a 
bride;  and  deeply  will  I  hold  myself  bound  to  your 


IVANHOE 


179 


Highness  for  a  good  deed,  which  will  fulfill  all 
promises  made  in  favor  of  your  servant  and  vassal/’ 

“We  will  not  forget  it,”  said  Prince  John;  “and 
that  we  may  instantly  go  to  work,  command  our 
seneschal  presently  to  order  the  attendance  of  the 
Lady  Rowena  and  her  company — that  is,  the  rude 
churl  her  guardian,  and  the  Saxon  ox  whom  the 
Black  Knight  struck  down  in  the  tournament,  upon 
this  evening’s  banquet.— De  Bigot,’’  he  added  to  his 
seneschal,  “thou  wilt  word  this  our  second  summons 
so  courteously  as  to  gratify  the  pride  of  these  Sax¬ 
ons,  and  make  it  impossible  for  them  again  to  re¬ 
fuse;  although,  by  the  bones  of  Becket/  courtesy  to 
them  is  casting  pearls  before  swine.” 

Prince  John  had  proceeded  thus  far,  and  was 
about  to  give  the  signal  for  retiring  from  the  lists, 
when  a  small  billet  was  put  into  his  hand. 

“From  whence?”  said  Prince  John,  looking  at  the 
person  by  whom  it  was  delivered. 

“From  foreign  parte,  my  lord,  but  from  whence 
I  know  not,”  replied  his  attendant.  “A  Frenchman 
brought  it  hither,  who  said  he  had  ridden  night  and 
day  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  your  Highness.” 

The  Prince  looked  narrowly  at  the  superscription, 
and  then  at  the  seal,  placed  so  as  to  secure  the  flox- 
silk  with  which  the  billet  was  surrounded,  and  which 
bore  the  impression  of  three  fleurs-de-lis.  John 
then  opened  the  billet  with  apparent  agitation, 
which  visibly  and  greatly  increased  when  he  had 
perused  the  contents,  which  were  expressed  in  these 
words — 

“Take  heed  to  yourself ,  for  the  Devil  is  unchained /” 


1Thomas  a  Becket.  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  Con¬ 
sidered  a  martyr.  Pilgrimages  were  made  to  his  shrine. 
See  Chaucer.  The  Canterbury  Tales, 


180 


IVANHOE 


The  Prince  turned  pale  as  death,  looked  first  on 
the  earth,  and  then  up  to  heaven,  like  a  man  who 
has  received  news  that  sentence  of  execution  has 
been  passed  upon  him.  Recovering  from  the  first 
effects  of  his  surprise,  he  took  Waldemar  Fitzurse 
and  De  Bracy  aside,  and  put  the  billet  into  their 
hands  successively.  “It  means,”  he  added,  in  a  fal¬ 
tering  voice,  “that  my  brother  Richard  has  obtained 
his  freedom.” 

“This  may  be  a  false  alarm,  or  a  forged  letter,” 
said  De  Bracy. 

“It  is  France’s1  own  hand  and  seal,”  replied 
Prince  John. 

“It  is  time,  then,”  said  Fifzurse,  “to  draw  our 
party  to  a  head,  either  at  York,  or  some  other  centri¬ 
cal  place.  A  few  days  later,  and  it  will  be  indeed 
too  late.  Your  Highness  must  break  sTiort  this  pres¬ 
ent  mummery.” 

“The  yeomen  and  commons,”  said  De  Bracy, 
“must  not  be  dismissed  discontented,  for  lack  of 
their  share  in  the  sports.” 

“The  day,”  said  Waldemar,  “is  not  yet  very  far 
spent — let  the  archers  shoot  a  few  rounds  at  the 
target,  and  the  prize  be  adjudged.  This  will  be  rwi 
abundant  fulfilment  of  the  Prince’s  promises,  so 
far  as  this  herd  of  Saxon  serfs  is  concerned.” 

“I  thank  thee,  Waldemar,”  said  the  Prince;  “thou 
remindest  me,  too,  that  I  have  a  debt  to  pay  to  that 
insolent  peasant  who  yesterday  insulted  our  person. 
Our  banquet  also  <?hall  go  forward  to-night  as  we 
proposed.  Were  this  my  last  hour  of  power,  it 
would  be  an  hour  sacred  to  revenge  and  to  pleasure 
— let  new  cares  '’ome  with  to-morrow’s  new  day.” 

’Philip  of  France, 

Question  :  Why  did  Scott  choose  this  time  to  have  the 
note  concerning  Richard  brought  to  Prince  John? 


IVANHOE 


181 


The  sound  of  the  trumpets  soon  recalled  those 
spectators  who  had  already  begun  to  leave  the  field ; 
and  proclamation  was  made  that  Prince  John,  sud¬ 
denly  called  by  high  and  peremptory  public  duties, 
held  himself  obligated  to  discontinue  the  entertain¬ 
ments  of  to-morrow’s  festival:  nevertheless,  that, 
unwilling  so  many  good  yeomen  should  depart  with¬ 
out  a  trial  of  skill,  he  was  pleased  to  appoint  them, 
before  leaving  the  ground,  presently  to  execute  the 
competition  of  archery  intended  for  the  morrow.  To 
the  best  archer  a  prize  was  to  be  awarded,  being  a 
bugle-horn,  mounted  with  silver,  and  a  silver  bald¬ 
ric  richly  ornamented  with  a  medallion  of  SE. 
Hubert,  the  patron  of  silvan  sport. 

More  than  thirty  yeomen  at  first  presented  them¬ 
selves  as  competitors,  several  of  whom  were  rangers 
and  under-keepers  in  the  royal  forests  of  Needwood 
and  Charnwood.  When,  however,  the  archers  un¬ 
derstood  with  whom  they  were  to  be  matched,  up¬ 
wards  of  twenty  withdrew  themselves  from  the  con¬ 
test.  unwilling  to  encounter  the  dishonor  of  almost 
certain  defeat.  Tor  in  those  days  the  skill  of  each 
celebrated  marksman  was  well  known  for  many 
miles  round  him,  as  the  qualities  of  a  horse  trained 
a’t  Newmarket1  are  familiar  to  those  who  frequent 
that  well-known  meeting. 

The  diminished  list  of  competitors  for  silvan  fame 
still  amounted  to  eight.  Prince  John  stepped  from 
his  royal  seat  to  view  more  nearly  the  persons  of 
these  chosen  yeomen,  several  of  whom  wore  the  roy¬ 
al  livery.  Having  satisfied  his  curiosity  by  this  in- 
vestigfation,  he  looked  for  the  object  of  his  resent¬ 
ment,  whom  he  observed  standing  on  the  same  spot, 
and  with  the  same  composed  countenance  which  he 
had  exhibited  upon  the  preceding  day. 


aTown  in  England  noted  for  its  horse  races. 


182 


IVANHOE 


<rFelIow,”  said  Prince  John,  “I  guessed  by  thy 
insolent  babble  thou  wert  no  true  lover  of  the  long¬ 
bow,1  and  I  see  thou  darest  not  adventure  thy  skill 
among  such  merry-men  as  istand  yonder.”  ' 

■‘Under  favor,  sir,”  replied  the  yeoman,  “I  have 
another  reason  for  refraining  to  shoot,  besides  the 
fearing  discomfiture  and  disgrace. ” 

“And  what  is  thy  other  reason?”  said  Prince 
John,  who,  for  some  cause  which,  perhaps,  he  could 
not  himself  have  explained,  felt  a  painful  curiosity 
respecting  this  individual. 

“Because,”  replied  the  woodsman,  “I  know  not  if 
these  yeomen  and  I  are  used  to  shoot  at  the  same 
marks;  and  because,  moreover,  I  know  not  how  your 
Grace  might  relish  the  winning  of  a  third  prize 
by  one  who  has  unwittingly  fallen  under  your  dis¬ 
pleasure.” 

Prince  John  colored  as  he  put  the  question,  “What 
is  thy  name,  yeoman?” 

“Locksley,”  answered  the  yeoman. 

“Then,  Locksley,”2  said  Prince  John,  “thou  shalt 
shoot  in  thy  turn,  when  these  yeomen  have  displayed 
their  skill.  If  thou  earnest  the  prize,  I  will  aifci 
to  it  twenty  nobles3;  but  if  thou  losest  it,  thou  shalt 
be  stript  of  thy  Lincoln-green,  and  scourged  out  of 
the  lists  with  bowstrings,  for  a  wordy  and  insolent 
braggart/’ 

And  how  if  I  refuse  to  'shoot  on  such  a  wager?” 
said  the  yeoman. — “Your  Grace’s  power,  supported, 
as  it  is,  by  so  many  men-at-arms,  may  indeed  easily 
strip  and  scourge  me,  but  cannot  compel  me  to  bend 
or  to  draw  my  bow.” 


'About  the  height  of  a  man ;  in  contrast  to  short  bow. 

2Robin  Hood. 

3An  old  English  coin,  worth  a  little  more  than  one  dollar 

and  a  half. 


Ivan  hoe 


183 


“If  thou  refusest  my  fair  proffer,”  said  the 
Prince,  “the  Provost  of  the  lists  shall  cut  thy  bow¬ 
string,  break  thy  bow  and  arrows,  and  expel  thee 
from  the  presence  as  a  faint-hearted  craven.” 

“This  is  no  fair  chance  you  put  on  me,  proua 
Prince,''  said  the  yeoman,  “to  compel  me  to  peril 
myself  against  the  best  archers  of  Leicester  ana 
*  Staffordshire,  under  the  penalty  of  infamy  if  they 
should  overshoot  me.  Nevertheless,  I  will  obey  your 
pleasure.” 

“Look  to  him  close,  men-at-arms,”  said  Prince 
John;  “his  heart  is  sinking.  I  am  jealous  lest  he 
attempt  to  escape  the  trial. — And  do  you,  good  fel¬ 
lows,  shoot  boldly  round;  a  buck  and  a  butt  of  wine 
are  ready  for  your  refreshment  in  yonder  tent,  when 
the  prize  is  won.” 

A  target  was  placed  at  the  upper  end  of  the  south¬ 
ern  avenue  which  led  to  the  lists.  The  contending 
archers  took  their  station  in  turn,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  southern  access,  the  distance  between  that  sta¬ 
tion  and  the  mark  allowing  full  distance  for  what 
was  called  a  shot  at  rovers.1  The  archers,  having 
!  previously  determined  by  lot  their  order  of  prece¬ 
dence,  were  to  shoot  each  three  shafts  in  succes¬ 
sion.  The  sports  were  regulated  by  an  officer  of  in¬ 
ferior  rank,  termed  the  Provost  of  the  Games;  for 
the  high  rank  of  the  marshals  of  the  lists  would 
have  been  held  degraded,  had  they  condescended  to 
superintend  the  sports  of  the  yeomanry. 

One  by  one  the  archers,  stepping  forward,  deliv¬ 
ered  their  shafts  yeomanlike  and  bravely.  Of  twen¬ 
ty-four  arrows,  shot  in  'succession,  ten  were  fixed  in 

*A  shot  at  height  or  long  distance;  sometimes  to  shoot 
at  random. 

Question:  How  does  Scott  stir  up  interest  in  a  sec¬ 
ond  contest  of  the  day? 


184 


IVANHOE 


the  target,  and  the  others  ranged  so  near  it,  that, 
considering  the  distance  of  the  mark,  it  was  ac¬ 
counted  good  archery.  Of  the  ten  shafts  which  nit 
the  target,  two  within  the  inner  ring  were  shot  by 
Hubert,  a  forester  in  the  service  of  Malvoisin,  who 
was  accordingly  pronounced  victorious. 

“Now,  Locksiey,”  said  Prince  John  to  the  bold 
yeoman,  with  a  bitter  smile,  “wilt  thou  try  conclu¬ 
sions  with  Hubert,  or  wilt  thou  yield  up  bow,  bald¬ 
ric,  and  quiver  to  the  Provost  of  the  sports  V* 

“Sith  it  be  no  better,”  said  Locksiey,  “I  am  con¬ 
tent  to  try  my  fortune,  on  condition  that  when  I  have 
shot  two  shafts  at  yonder  mark  of  Hubert’s,  he  shall 
be  bound  to  shoot  one  at  that  which  I  shall  propose.” 

“That  is  but  fair,”  answered  Prince  John,  “and 
it  shall  not  be  refused  thee. — If  thou  dost  beat  this 
braggart,  Hubert,  I  will  fill  the  bugle  with  silver 
pennies  for  thee.” 

“A  man  can  do  but  his  best,”  answered  Hubert, 
“but  my  grandsire  drew  a  good  long-bow  at  Hast¬ 
ings1  and  I  trust  not  to  dishonor  his  memory.” 

The  former  target  was  now  removed,  and  a  fresh 
one  of  the  same  size  placed  in  its  room.  Hubert, 
who,  as  victor  in  the  first  trial  of  skill,  had  the  right 
to  shoot  first,  took  his  aim  with  great  deliberation, 
long  measuring  the  distance  with  his  eye,  while  he 
held  in  his  hand  his  bended  bow,  with  the  arrow 
placed  on  the  string.  At  length  he  made  a  step  for¬ 
ward,  and  raising  the  bow  at  the  full  stretch  of  his 
left  arm,  till  the  center  or  grasping-place  was  nigh 
level  with  his  face,  he  drew  his  bowstring  to  his  ear. 
The  arrow  whistled  through  the  air,  and  lighted 
within  the  inner  circle  of  the  target,  but  not  exact¬ 
ly  in  the  center. 

“You  have  not  allowed  for  the  wind,  Hubert,”  said 


Tiattle  of  Hastings,  1066. 


IVANHOE 


185 


his  antagonist,  bending  his  bow,  “or  that  had  been 
a  better  shot/’ 

So  saying,  and  without  showing  the  least  anxiety 
to  pause  upon  his  aim,  Locksley  stept  to  the  ap¬ 
pointed  station,  and  >shot  his  arrow  as  carelessly  in 
appearance  as  if  he  had  not  even  looked  at  the  mark. 
He  was  speaking  almost  at  the  instant  that  the  shaft 
left  the  bowstring,  yet  it  alighted  in  the  target  two 
inches  nearer  to  the  white  spot  which  marked  the 
center  than  that  of  Hubert. 

“By  the  light  of  heaven !”  said  Prince  John  to 
Hubert,  “an  thou  suffer  that  runagate  knave  to  over¬ 
come  thee,  thou  art  worthy  of  the  gallows !” 

Hubert  had  but  one  set  speech  for  all  occasions. 
“An  your  Highness  were  to  hang  me/’  he  said,  “a 
man  can  but  do  his  best.  Nevertheless,  my  grand- 
sire  drew  a  good  bow — ” 

“The  foul  fiend  on  thy  grandsire  and  all  his  gen¬ 
eration!”  interrupted  John;  “sh.oot,  knave,  and 
shoot  thy  best,  or  it  shall  be  the  worst  for  thee!” 

Thus  exhorted,  Hubert  resumed  his  place,  and  not 
neglecting  the  caution  which  he  had  received  from 
his  adversary,  he  made  the  necessary  allowance  for 
a  very  light  air  of  wind,  which  had  just  arisen,  and 
shot  so  successfully  that  his  arrows  alighted  in  the 
very  center  of  the  target. 

“A  Hubert!  a  Hubert!”  shouted  the  populace, 
more  interested  in  a  known  person  than  in  a  strang¬ 
er.  “In  the  clout! — in  the  clout! — a  Hubert  forever!” 

“Thou  canst  not  mend  that  shot,  Locksley,”  said 
the  Prince,  with  an  insulting  smile. 

“I  will  notch  his  shaft  for  him,  however,”  replied 
Locksley.  And  letting  fly  his  arrow  with  a  little 
more  precaution  than  before,  it  lighted  right  upon 
that  of  his  competitor,  which  it  split  to  shivers. 
The  people  who  stood  around  were  so  astonished  at 


186 


Ivan  hoe 


his  wonderful  dexterity  that  they  could  not  even 
give  vent  to  their  surprise  in  their  usual  clamor. 
“This  must  be  the  devil,  and  no  man  of  flesh  and 
blood,”  whispered  the  yeomen  to  each  other;  “such 
archery  was  never  seen  since  a  bow  was  first  bent 
in  Britain.” 

“And  now,”  said  Locksley,  “I  will  crave  your 
Grace’s  permission  to  plant  such  a  mark  as  is  used 
in  the  North  Country;  and  welcome  every  brave  yeo¬ 
man  who  shall  try  a  shot  at  it  to  win  a  smile  from 
the  bonny  lass  he  loves  best.” 

He  then  turned  to  leave  the  lists.  “Let  your 
guards  attend  me,’’  he  'said,  “if  you  please — I  go  but 
to  cut  a  rod  from  the  next  willow-bush.” 

Prince  John  made  a  signal  that  some  attendants 
should  follow  him  in  case  of  his  escape;  but  the  cry 
of  “Shame!  Shame!”  which  burst  from  the  multi¬ 
tude,  induced  him  to  alter  his  ungenerous  purpose. 

Locksley  returned  almost  instantly  with  a  willow 
wand  about  six  feet  in  length,  perfectly  straight, 
and  rather  thicker  than  a  man’s  thumb.  He  began 
to  peel  this  with  great  composure,  observing  at  the 
same  time,  that  to  ask  a  good  woodsman  to  shoot  at 
a  target  so  broad  as  had  hitherto  been  used,  was  to 
put  shame  upon  his  skill.  “For  his  own  part,”  he 
said,  “and  in  the  land  where  he  was  bred,  men 
would  as  soon  take  for  their  mark  King  Arthur’s 
round-table,1  which  held  sixty  knights  around  it.  A 
child  of  ‘seven  years  old,”  he  said,  “might  hit  yon¬ 
der  target  with  a  headless  shaft;  but,”  added  he, 
walking  deliberately  to  the  other  end  of  the  lists, 
and  sticking  the  willow  wand  upright  in  the  ground, 
“he  that  hits  that  rod  at  five-score  yards,  I  call  him 


2See  Tennyson’s  Idylls  of  the  Kino  for  the  legend  of 

King  Arthur  and  his  knights  gathered  around  the  round 

table. 


Ivan  hoe 


187 


m  archer  fit  to  bear  both  bow  and  quiver  before  a 
iting  an  it  were  the  stout  King  Richard  himself.” 

|  “My  grandsire,”  said  Hubert,  “drew  a  good  bow 
at  the  battle  of  Hastings,  and  never  shot  at  such  a 
nark  in  his  life — and  neither  will  I.  If  this  yeo- 
nan  can  cleave  that  rod,  I  give  him  the  bucklers — 
)r  rather,  I  yield  to  the  devil  that  is  in  his  jerkin, 
md  not  to  any  human  skill;  a  man  can  but  do  his 
jest,  and  I  will  not  shoot  where  I  am  sure  to  miss. 
.  might  as  well  shoot  at  the  edge  of  our  parson’s 
vhittle,  or  at  a  wheat  straw,  or  at  a  sunbeam,  as  at 
i  twinkling  white  streak  which  I  can  hardly  see.” 

I  “Cowardly  dog!”  said  Prince  John. — “Sirrah 
Locksley,  do  thou  shoot;  but,  if  thou  hittest  such  a 
nark,  I  will  say  thou  art  the  first  man  ever  did  so. 
Howe’er  it  be,  thou  shalt  not  crow  over  us  with  a 
nere  show  of  superior  skill.” 

“I  will  do  my  best,  as  Hubert  says,”  answered 
Locksley;  “no  man  can  do  more.” 

So  saying,  he  again  bent  his  bow,  but  on  the  pres¬ 
ent  occasion  looked  with  attention  to  his  weapon, 
and  changed  the  string,  which  he  thought  was  no 
longer  truly  round,  having  been  a  little  frayed  by 
the  two  former  shots.  He  then  took  his  aim  with 
some  deliberation,  and  the  multitude  awaited  the 
event  in  breathless  silence.  The  archers  vindicated 
Itheir  opinion  of  his  skill:  his  arrow  split  the  wil¬ 
low  rod  against  which  it  was  aimed.  A  jubilee  of 
acclamations  followed;  and  even  Prince  John,  in  ad¬ 
miration  of  Locksley’s  skill,  lost  for  an  instant  his 
idislike  to  his  person.  “These  twenty  nobles,”  he 
isaid,  “which,  with  the  bugle,  thou  hast  fairly  won, 
are  thine  own;  we  will  make  them  fifty,  if  thou  wilt 
take  livery  and  service  with  us  as  a  yeoman  of  our 
bodyguard,  and  be  near  to  our  person.  For  never 


188 


IVANHOE 


did  so  strong  a  hand  bend  a  bow,  or  so  true  an  eye 
direct  a  shaft.” 

“Pardon  me,  noble  Prince,”  said  Locksley;  “bui 
I  have  vowed,  that  if  ever  I  take  service,  it  ^should 
be  with  your  royal  brother,  King  Richard.  These 
twenty  nobles,  I  leave  to  Hubert,  who  has  this  day 
drawn  as  brave  a  bow  as  his  grandsire  did  at  Hast¬ 
ings.  Had  his  modesty  not  refused  the  trial,  he 
would /have  hit  the  wand  as  well  as  I.” 

Hubert  shook  his  head  as  he  received  with  reluc¬ 
tance  the  bounty  of  the  stranger,  and  Locksley,  anx¬ 
ious  to  escape  further  observation,  mixed  with  the 
crowd,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

The  victorious  archer  would  not  perhaps  have  es¬ 
caped  John’s  attention  so  easily,  had  not  that  Prince 
had  other  subjects  of  anxious  and  more  important 
meditation  pressing  upon  his  mind  at  that  instant. 
He  called  upon  hi>s  chamberlain  as  he  gave  the  sig¬ 
nal  for  retiring  from  the  lists,  and  commanded  him 
instantly  to  gallop  to  Ashby,  and  seek  out  Isaac  the 
Jew.  “Tell  the  dog,”  he  said,  “to  send  me,  before 
sundown,  two  thousand  crowns.  He  knows  the  se¬ 
curity;  but  thou  mayst  show  him  this  ring  for  a 
token.  The  rest  of  the  money  must  be  paid  at  York 
within  six  days.  If  he  neglects,  I  will  have  the  un¬ 
believing  villain’s  head.  Look  that  thou  pass  him 
not  on  the  way;  for  the  circumcised  slave  was  dis¬ 
playing  his  stolen  finery  amongst  us.’’ 

So  saying,  the  Prince  resumed  his  horse,  and  re¬ 
turned  to  Ashby,  the  whole  crowd  breaking  up  and 
dispersing  upon  his  retreat. 


I 


Question  :  Do  you  suppose  that  Scott  has  any  future, 
use  for  Locksley?  Who  is  Locksley? 


CHAPTER  XIV 


In  rough  magnificence  array’d, 

When  ancient  Chivalry  display'd 
The  pomp  of  her  heroic  gains, 

And  crested  chiefs  and  tissued  dames 
Assembled,  at  the  clarion’s  call, 

In  some  proud  castle’s  high-arch’d  hall. 

Warton. 

Prince  John  held  his  high  festival  in  the  Castle 
of  Ashby.  This  was  not  the  same  building  of  which 
the  stately  ruins  still  interest  the  traveler,  and 
which  was  erected  at  a  later  period  by  the  Lord 
Hastings,1  High  Chamberlain  of  England,  one  of  the 
first  victims  of  the  tyranny  of  Richard  the  Third, 
and  yet  better  known  as  one  of  Shakespeare’s  char¬ 
acters  than  by  his  historical  fame.  The  castle  and 
town  of  Ashby,  at  this  time,  belonged  to  Roger  de 
Quincy,  Earl  of  Winchester,  who,  during  the  period 
of  our  history,  was  absent  in  the  Holy  Land.  Prince 
John,  in  the  meanwhile,  occupied  his  castle,  and  dis¬ 
posed  of  his  domains  without  scruple;  and  seeking 
at  present  to  dazzle  men’s  eyes  by  his  hospitality 
|  and  magnificence,  had  given  orders  for  great  prepa¬ 
rations,  in  order  to  render  the  banquet  as  splen¬ 
did  as  possible. 

The  purveyors  of  the  Prince,  who  exercised  on 
this  and  other  occasions  the  full  authority  of  roy¬ 
alty,  had  swept  the  country  of  all  that  could  be  col¬ 
lected  which  was  esteemed  fit  for  their  master’s 
table.  Guests  also  were  invited  in  great  numbers; 
and  in  the  necessity  in  which  he  then  found  him¬ 
self  of  courting  popularity,  Prince  John  had  ex¬ 
tended  his  invitation  to  a  few  distinguished  Saxon 


’Upon  his  return  Richard  had  Lord  Hastings  executed. 


190 


IVANHOE 


and  Danish  families,  as  well  as  to  the  Norman  no¬ 
bility  and  gentry  of  the  neighborhood.  However 
despised  and  degraded  on  ordinary  occasions,  the 
great  numbers  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  must  necessar¬ 
ily  render  them  formidable  in  the  civil  commotions 
which  seemed  approaching,  and  it  was  an  obvious 
point  of  policy  to  secure  popularity  with  their  lead¬ 
ers. 

It  was  accordingly  the  Prince's  intention,  which 
he  for  some  time  maintained,  to  treat  these  un¬ 
wonted  guests  with  a  courtesy  to  which  they  had 
been  little  accustomed.  But  although  no  man  with 
less  scruple  made  his  ordinary  habits  and  feelings 
bend  to  his  interest,  it  was  the  misfortune  of  this 
Prince,  that  his  levity  and  petulance  were  perpetual¬ 
ly  breaking  out,  and  undoing  all  that  had  been 
gained  by  his  previous  dissimulation. 

Of  this  fickle  temper  he  gave  a  memorable  exam¬ 
ple  in  Ireland,  when  sent  thither  by  his  father, 
Henry  the  Second,  with  the  purpose  of  buying  gold¬ 
en  opinions  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  new  and  im¬ 
portant  acquisition  to  the  English  crown.  Upon  this 
occasion  the  Irish  chieftains  contended  which 
should  first  offer  to  the  young  Prince  their  loyal 
homage  and  the  kiss  of  peace.  But,  instead  of  re¬ 
ceiving  their  salutations  with  courtesy,  John  and 
his  petulant  attendants  could  not  resist  the  tempta¬ 
tion  of  pulling  the  long  beards  of  the  Irish  chieftains ; 
a  conduct  which,  as  might  have  been  expected,  was 
highly  resented  by  these  insulted  dignitaries,  and 
produced  fatal  consequences  to  the  English  domina¬ 
tion  in  Ireland.  It  is  necessary  to  keep  these  incon¬ 
sistencies  of  John's  character  in  view,  that  the  read¬ 
er  may  understand  his  conduct  during  the  present 
evening. 

In  execution  of  the  resolution  which  he  had 


IVANHOE 


191 


formed  during  his  cooler  moments,  Prince  John  re¬ 
ceived  Cedric  and  Athelstane  with  distinguished 
courtesy,  and  expressed  his  disappointment,  without 
resentment,  when  the  indisposition  of  Rowena  was 
alleged  by  the  former  as  a  reason  for  her  not  at¬ 
tending  upon  hi<3  gracious  summons.  Cedric  and 
Athelstane  were  both  dressed  in  the  ancient  Saxon 
garb,  which,  although  not  unhandsome  in  itself,  and 
in  the  present  instance  composed  of  costly  materi¬ 
als,  was  so  remote  in  shape  and  appearance  from 
that  of  the  other  guests,  that  Prince  John  took  great 
credit  to  himself  with  Waldemar  FItzurse  for  re¬ 
fraining  from  laughter  at  a  'sight  which  the  fash¬ 
ion  of  the  day  rendered  ridiculous.  Yet,  in  the  eye 
of  sober  judgment,  the  short  close  tunic  and  long 
mantle  of  the  Saxons  was  a  more  graceful,  as  well 
as  a  more  convenient  dress,  than  the  garb  of  the 
Normans,  whose  under  garment  was  a  long  doublet, 
so  loose  as  to  resemble  a  shirt  or  wagoner’s  frock, 
covered  by  a  cloak  of  scanty  dimensions,  neither  fit 
to  defend  the  wearer  from  cold  or  from  rain,  and 
the  only  purpose  of  which  appeared  to  be  to  display 
as  much  fur,  embroidery,  and  jewelry  work  as  the 
ingenuity  of  the  tailor  could  contrive  to  lay  upon 
it.  The  Emperor  Charlemagne,1  in  whose  reign  they 
were  first  introduced,  seems  to  have  been  very  sen¬ 
sible  of  the  inconveniences  arising  from  the  fash¬ 
ion  of  this  garment.  “In  Heaven’s  name,”  said  he, 
“to  what  purpose  serve  these  abridged  cloaks?  If 
we  are  in  bed  they  are  no  cover,  on  horseback  they 
are  no  protection  from  the  wind  and  rain,  and  when 
seated,  they  do  not  guard  our  legs  from  the  damp 
or  the  frost.” 

Nevertheless,  spite  of  this  imperial  objurgation, 

TDmperor  of  the  Franks  and  Emperor  of  the  Romans  in 
the  eighth  century. 


192 


Ivan  hoe 


the  short  cloaks  continued  in  fashion  down  to  the 
time  of  which  we  treat,  and  particularly  among  the 
princes  of  the  House  of  Anjou.  They  were  there¬ 
fore  in  universal  use  among  Prince  John’s  court¬ 
iers;  and  the  long  mantle,  which  formed  the  upper 
garment  of  the  Saxons,  was  held  in  proportional  de¬ 
rision. 

The  guests  were  seated  at  a  table  which  groaned 
under  the  quantity  of  good  cheer.  The  numerous 
cooks  who  attended  on  the  Prince’s  progress,  having 
exerted  all  their  art  in  varying  the  forms  in  which 
the  ordinary  provisions  were  served  up,  had  suc¬ 
ceeded  almost  as  well  as  the  modern  professors  of 
the  culinary  art  in  rendering  them  perfectly  unlike 
their  natural  appearance.  Besides  these  dishes  of 
domestic  origin,  there  were  various  delicacies 
brought  from  foreign  parts,  and  a  quantity  of  rich 
pastry,  as  well  as  of  the  simnel-bread  and  wastel 
cakes,  which  were  only  used  at  the  tables  of  the 
highest  nobility.  The  banquet  was  crowned  with 
the  richest  wines,  both  foreign  and  domestic. 

But,  though  luxurious,  the  Norman  nobles  were 
not,  generally  speaking,  an  intemperate  race.  While 
indulging  themselves  in  the  pleasures  of  the  table, 
they  aimed  at  delicacy,  but  avoided  excess,  and  were 
apt  to  attribute  gluttony  and  drunkenness  to  the 
vanquished  Saxons,  as  vices  peculiar  to  their  infer¬ 
ior  station.  Prince  John,  indeed,  and  those  who 
courted  his  pleasure  by  imitating  his  foibles,  were 
apt  to  indulge  to  excess  in  the  pleasures  of  the 
trencher  and  the  goblet;  and  indeed  it  is  well  known 
that  his  death  was  occasioned  by  a  surfeit  upon 
peaches  and  new  ale.  His  conduct,  however,  was  an 
exception  to  the  genera]  manners  of  his  country¬ 
men. 

With  sly  gravity,  interrupted  only  by  private  signs 


IVANHOE 


193 


to  each  other,  the  Norman  knights  and  nobles  beheld 
the  ruder  demeanor  of  Athelstane  and  Cedric  at  a 
banquet,  to  the  form  and  fashion  of  which  they  were 
unaccustomed.  And  while  their  manners  were  thus 
tne  subject  of  sarcastic  observation,  the  untaught 
Saxons  unwittingly  transgressed  several  of  the  arbi¬ 
trary  rules  established  for  the  regulation  of  so¬ 
ciety.  Now,  it  is  well  known,  that  a  man  may  with 
more  impunity  be  guilty  of  an  actual  breach  either 
of  real  good  breeding  or  of  good  morals,  than  ap¬ 
pear  ignorant  of  the  most  minute  point  of  fashion¬ 
able  etiquette.  Thus  Cedric,  who  dried  his  hands 
with  a  towel,  instead  of  suffering  the  moisture  to  ex¬ 
hale  by  waving  them  gracefully  in  the  air,  incurred 
more  ridicule  than  his  companion  Athelstane,  when 
he  swallowed  to  his  own  single  share  the  whole  of  a 
large  pasty  composed  of  the  most  exquisite  foreign 
delicacies,  and  termed  at  that  time  a  Karum-pie. 
When,  however,  it  was  discovered,  by  a  serious 
cross-examination,  that  the  Thane  of  Coningsburgh 
(or  Franklin,  as  the  Normans  termed  him)  had  no 
idea  what  he  had  been  devouring,  and  that  he  had 
taken  the  contents  of  the  Karum-pie  for  larks  and 
pigeons,  whereas  they  were  in  fact  beccaficoes  and 
nightingales,  his  ignorance  brought  him  in  for  an 
ample  share  of  the  ridicule  which  would  have  been 
more  justly  bestowed  on  his  gluttony. 

The  long  feast  had  at  length  its  end ;  and,  while 
the  goblet  circulated  freely,  men  talked  of  the  feats 
of  the  preceding  tournament, — of  the  unknown  vic¬ 
tor  in  the  archery  games,  of  the  Black  Knight, 
whose  self-denial  had  induced  him  to  withdraw  from 
the  honors  he  had  won, — and  of  the  gallant  Ivan- 

Question  :  What  did  Athelstane  and  Cedric  do  to  make 
themselves  appear  ridiculous  in  the  sight  of  the  Normans 
at  the  banquet? 


194 


IVANHOE 


hoe,  who  had  so  dearly  bought  the  honors  of  the 
day.  The  topics  were  treated  with  military  frank¬ 
ness,  and  the  jest  and  laugh  went  round  the  hall. 
The  brow  of  Prince  John  alone  was  over-clouded 
during  these  discussions;  some  overpowering  care 
seemed  agitating  his  mind,  and  it  was  only  when  he 
received  occasional  hints  from  his  attendants,  that 
he  seemed  to  take  interest  in  what  was  passing 
around  him.  On  such  occasions  he  would  start  up, 
quaff  a  cup  of  wine  as  if  to  raise  his  spirits,  and 
'-hen  mingle  in  the  conversation  by  some  observa¬ 
tion  made  abruptly  or  at  random. 

“We  drink  this  beaker,”  said  he,  “to  the  health 
of  Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe,  champion  of  tnis  Passage  of 
Arms,  and  grieve  that  his  wound  renders  him  absent 
from  our  board. — Let  all  fill  to  the  pledge,  and  espe¬ 
cially  Cedric  of  Rotherwood,  the  worthy  father  of 
a  son  so  promising.” 

‘Wo,  my  lord,”  replied  Cedric,  ‘standing  up,  and 
placing  on  the  table  his  untasted  cup,  “I  yield  not 
the  name  of  son  to  the  disobedient  youth,  who  at 
once  despises  my  commands,  and  relinquishes  the 
manners  and  customs  of  his  fathers.” 

“  ,Tis  impossible/’  cried  Prince  John,  with  well- 
feigned  astonishment,  “that  so  gallant  a  knight 
should  be  an  unworthy  or  disobedient  son!” 

“Yet,  my  lord/*  answered  Cedric,  “so  it  is  with 
this  Wilfred.  He  left  my  homely  dwelling  to  min¬ 
gle  with  the  gay  nobility  of  your  brother’s  court, 
where  He  learned  to  do  those  tricks  of  horseman¬ 
ship  which  you  prize  so  highly.  He  left  it  contrary 
to  my  wish  and  command;  and  in  the  days  of  Alfred 
that  would  have  been  termed  disobedience — aye,  and 
a  crime  severely  punishable.” 

“Alas!  replied  Prince  John,  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
affected  sympathy,  “since  your  son  was  a  follower 


IVANHOE 


195 


of  my  unhappy  brother,  it  need  not  be  inquired 
where  or  from  whom  he  learned  the  lesson  of  filial 
disobedience.” 

Thus  spake  Prince  John,  willfully  forgetting,  that 
pf  all  the  sons  of  Henry  the  Second,  though  no  one 
was  free  from  the  charge,  he  himself  had  been  most 
distinguished  for  rebellion  and  ingratitude  to  his 
father. 

“I  think,”  said  he  after  a  moment’s  pause,  “that 
my  brother  proposed  to  confer  upon  his  favorite  the 
rich  manor  of  Ivanhoe.” 

“He  did  endow  him  with  it,n  answered  Cedric; 
“nor  is  it  my  least  quarrel  with  my  son,  that  he 
stooped  to  hold,  as  a  feudal  vassal,  the  very  domains 
which  his  fathers  possessed  in  free  and  independent 
right.” 

“We  shall  then  have  your  willing  sanction,  good 
Cedrick,”  said  Prince  John,  “to  confer  this  fief  upon 
a  person  whose  dignity  will  not  be  diminished  by 
holding  land  of  the  British  crown. — Sir  Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf,”  he  said,  turning  towards  that 
Baron,  “I  trust  you  will  so  keep  the  goodly  Barony 
of  Ivanhoe,  that  Sir  Wilfred  shall  not  incur  his 
father’s  farther  displeasure  by  again  entering  upon 
that  fief.” 

“By  St.  Anthony!”  answered  the  black-brow’d 
giant,  “I  will  consent  that  your  highness  shall  hold 
me  a  Saxon,  if  either  Cedric  or  Wilfred,  or  the  best 
that  ever  bore  English  blood,  shall  wrench  from  me 
that  gift  with  which  your  highness  has  graced  me.” 

■  “Whoever  shall  call  thee  Saxon,  Sir  Baron,”  re¬ 
plied  Cedric,  offended  at  a  mode  of  expression  by 
which  the  Normans  frequently  expressed  their  hab¬ 
itual  contempt  of  the  English,  “will  do  thee  an  hon¬ 
or  as  great  as  it  is  undeserved.” 


196 


Ivan  hoe 


Front-de-Boeuf  would  have  replied,  but  Prince 
John’s  petulance  and  levity  got  the  start. 

“Assuredly/*  said  he,  “my  lords,  the  noble  Cedric 
speaks  truth:  and  his  race  may  claim  precedence 
over  us  as  much  in  the  length  of  their  pedigrees  as 
the  longitude  of  their  cloaks.” 

“They  go  before  us  indeed  in  the  field — as  deer 
before  dogs,”  said  Malvoisin. 

“And  with  good  right  may  they  go  before  us — 
forget  not,”  said  the  Prior  Aymer,  “the  superior 
decency  and  decorum  of  their  manners.” 

“Their  singular  abstemiousness  and  temperance,” 
said  De  Bracy,  forgetting  the  plan  which  promised 
him  a  Saxon  bride. 

“Together  with  the  courage  and  conduct,”  said 
Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  “by  which  they  distin¬ 
guished  themselves  at  Hastings  and  elsewhere.” 

While,  witlTsmooth  and  smiling  cheek,  the  court¬ 
iers,  each  in  turn,  followed  their  Prince’s  example, 
and  aimed  a  shaft  of  ridicule  at  Cedric,  the  face 
of  the  Saxon  Became  inflamed  with  passion,  and  he 
glanced  his  eyes  fiercely  from  one  to  another,  a's  if 
the  quick  succession  of  so  many  injuries  had  pre¬ 
vented  his  replying  to  them  in  turn;  or,  like  a  baited 
bull,  who.  surrounded  by  his  tormentors,  is  at  a  loss 
to  choose  from  among  them  the  immediate  object  oi 
his  revenge.  At  length  he  spoke,  in  a  voice  halt 
choked  with  passion;  and,  addressing  himself  tc 
Prince  John  as  the  head  and  front  of  the  offense 
which  he  had  received,  “Whatever,”  he  said,  “have 
been  the  follies  and  vices  of  our  race,  a  Saxon  would 
have  been  held  nidering,”1  (the  most  emphatic  tern: 
for  abject  worthlessness)  “who  should  in  his  owr 

^‘There  was  nothing  accounted  so  ignominious  among  the 
Saxons  as  to  merit  this  disgraceful  epithet.  Even  William 
the  Conqueror,  hated  as  he  was  by  them,  continued  to  draw 


IVANHOE 


197 


lia.ll,  and  while  his  own  wine-cup  passed,  have 
jreated,  or  suffered  to  be  treated,  an  unoffending 
tuest  as  your  highness  has  this  day  beheld  me  used ; 
ind  whatever  was  the  misfortune  of  our  fathers  on 
j.he  field  of  Hastings,  those  may  at  least  be  silent,” 
iere  he  looked  at  Front-de-Bceuf  and  the  Templar, 
l‘who  have  within  these  few  hours  once  and  again 
;ost  saddle  and  stirrup  before  the  lance  of  a  Saxon.” 

“By  my  faith,  a  biting  jest!”  said  Prince  John. 
‘How  like  you  it,  sirs? — Our  Saxon  subjects  rise 
in  spirit  and  courage;  become  shrewd  in  wit,  and 
pold  in  bearing,  in  these  unsettled  times. — What  say 
ye,  my  lords? — By  this  good  light,  I  hold  it  best  to 
take  our  galleys,  and  return  to  Normandy  in  time.” 

“For  fear  of  the  Saxon?”  said  De  Bracy,  laugh¬ 
ing;  “we  should  need  no  weapon  but  our  hunting 
spears  to  bring  these  boars  to  bay.” 

“A  truce  with  your  raillery,  Sir  Knights,”  said 
Fitzurse; — “and  it  were  well,”  he  added,  addressing 
the  Prince,  “that  your  highness  should  assure  the 
worthy  Cedric  there  is  no  insult  intended  him  by 
jests,  which  must  sound  but  harshly  in  the  ear  of  a 
strailger.” 

“Insult?”  answered  Prince  John,  resuming  his 
courtesy  of  demeanor;  “I  trust  it  will  not  be  thought 
that  I  could  mean,  or  permit  any,  to  be  offered  in  my 
pre:ence.  Here!  I  fill  my  cup  to  Cedric  himself, 
since  he  refuses  to  pledge  his  son’s  health.” 

The  cup  went  fc-ound  amid  the  well-dissembled 
applause  of  the  courtiers,  which,  however,  failed  to 
make  the  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  Saxon  that 
had  been  designed.  He  was  not  naturally  acute  of 

a  considerable  army  of  Anglo  Saxons  to  his  standard,  by 
threatening  to  stigmatize  those  who  stayed  at  home  as 
nidering.  Bartholimus,  I  think,  mentions  a  similar  phrase 
which  had  like  influence  on  the  Danes.  L.  T.  (Scott’s  note.) 


198 


Ivan  hoe 


perception,  but  those  too  much  undervalued  his  un¬ 
derstanding  who  deemed  that  this  flattering  compli¬ 
ment  would  obliterate  the  sense  of  the  prior  insulv. 
He  was  silent,  however,  when  the  royal  pledge  again 
passed  round,  “To  Sir  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh.” 

The  knight  made  his  obeisance,  and  showed  nis 
sense  of  the  honor  by  draining  a  huge  goblet  in 
answer  to  it. 

“And  now,  sirs,”  said  Prince  John,  who  began  to 
be  warmed  with  the  wine  which  he  had  drank  “hav¬ 
ing  done  justice  to  our  Saxon  guests,  we  will  pray 
of  them  some  requital  to  our  courtesy. — Worthy 
Thane,”  he  continued,  addressing  Cedric,  “may  we 
pray  you  to  name  to  us  some  Norman  whose  mention 
may  least  sully  your  mouth,  and  to  wash  down  w’th 
a  goblet  of  wine  all  bitterness  which  the  sound  may 
leave  behind  it?” 

Fitzurse  arose  while  Prince  John  spoke,  and  glid¬ 
ing  behind  the  seat  of  the  Saxon,  whispered  to  him 
not  to  omit  the  opportunity  of  putting  an  end  to 
unkindness  betwixt  the  two  races,  by  naming  Prin'ce 
John.  The. Saxon  replied  not  to  this  polite  insinua¬ 
tion,  but,  rising  up,  and  filling  his  cup  to  the  brim, 
he  addressed  Prince  John  in  these  words :  “Your 
highness  has  required  that  I  should  name  a  Norman 
deserving  to  be  remembered  at  our  banquet.  Th's, 
perchance,  is  a  hard  task,  since  it  calls  on  the  slave 
to  sing  the  praises  of  the  master— upon  the  van¬ 
quished,  while  pressed  by  all  the  evils  of  conquest, 
to  sing  the  praises  of  the  conqueror.  Yet  I  will 
name  a  Norman— the  first  in  arms  and  in  place— the 
best  and  the  noblest  of  his  race.  And  the  lips  that 
shall  refuse  to  pledge  me  to  his  well-earned  fame, 

I  term  false  and  dishonored,  and  will  so  maintain 
them  with  my  life.— I  quaff  this  goblet  to  the  health 
of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted!” 


IVANHOE 


199 


Prince  John,  who  had  expected  that  his  own  name 
would  have  closed  the  Saxon’s  speech,  started  when 
that  of  his  injured  brother  was  so  unexpectedly  in¬ 
troduced.  He  raised  mechanically  the  wine-cup  to 
his  lips,  then  instantly  set  it  down,  to  view  the  de¬ 
meanor  of  the  company  at  this  unexpected  proposal, 
which  many  of  them  felt  it  as  unsafe  to  oppose  as  to 
comply  with.  Some  of  them,  ancient  and  experi- 
I  enced  courtiers,  closely  imitated  the  example  of  the 
Prince  himself,  raising  the  goblet  to  their  lips,  and 
again  replacing  it  before  them.  There  were  many 
who,  with  a  more  generous  feeling,  exclaimed, 
“Long  live  King  Richard!  and  may  he  be  speedily 
restored  to  us!”  And  some  few,  among  whom  were 
Front-de-Boeuf  and  the  Templar,  in  sullen  disdain 
suffered  their  goblets  to  stand  untasted  before  them. 
But  no  man  ventured  directly  to  gainsay  a  pledge 
filled  to  the  health  of  the  reigning  monarch. 

Having  enjoyed  his  triumph  for  about  a  minute, 
Cedric  said  to  his  companion,  “Up,  noble  Athel- 
stane!  we  have  remained  here  long  enough,  since  we 
have  requited  the  hospitable  courtesy  of  Prince 
John’s  banquet.  Those  who  wish  to  know  further  of 
our  rude  Saxon  manners  must  henceforth  seek  us 
in  the  homes  of  our  fathers,  since  we  have  seen 
enough  of  royal  banquets,  and  enough  of  Norman 
courtesy.” 

So  saying,  he  arose  and  left  the  banqueting  room, 
followed  by  Athelstane,  and  by  several  other  guests, 
who  partaking  of  the  Saxon  lineage,  held  themselves 
insulted  by  the  sarcasms  of  Prince  John  and  his 
courtiers. 

“By  the  bones  of  St.  Thomas,”  said  Prince  John, 
as  they  retreated,  “the  Saxon  churls  have  borne  off 
the  best  of  the  day,  and  have  retreated  with  tri¬ 
umph!” 


200 


Ivan  hoe 


“Conclamatum  est,  poculatum  est,”  said  Prior 
Aymer;  “we  have  drunk  and  we  have  shouted, — it 
were  time  we  left  our  wine  flagons.” 

“The  monk  hath  some  fair  penitent  to  shrive  to¬ 
night,  that  he  is  in  such  a  hurry  to  depart,”  said  De 
Bracy. 

“Not  so,  Sir  Knight,”  replied  the  Abbot;  “but  I 
must  move  several  miles  forward  this  evening  upon 
my  homeward  journey.” 

“They  are  breaking  up,”  said  the  Prince  in  a 
whisper  to  Fitzurse;  “their  fears  anticipate  the 
event,  and  this  coward  Prior  is  the  first  to  shrink 
from  me.” 

“Fear  not,  my  lord,”  said  Waldemar;  “I  will  show 
nim  such  reasons  as  shall  induce  him  to  join  us 
when  we  hold  our  meeting  at  York. — Sir  Prior,”  he 
said,  “I  must  speak  with  you  in  private,  before 
you  mount  your  palfrey.” 

The  other  guests  were  now  fast  dispersing,  with 
the  exception  of  those  immediately  attached  to 
Prince  John’s  faction,  and  his  retinue. 

“This,  then,  is  the  result  of  your  advice,”  said  the 
Prince,  turning  an  angry  countenance  upon  Fitz¬ 
urse;  “that  I  should  be  bearded  at  my  own  board  by 
a  drunken  Saxon  churl,  and  that,  on  the  mere  sound 
of  my  brother’s  name,  men  should  fall  off  front  me 
as  if  I  had  the  leprosy?” 

“Have  patience,  sir,”  replied  his  counselor;  “I 
might  retort  your  accusation,  and  blame  the  incon¬ 
siderable  levity  which  foiled  my  design,  and  misled 
your  own  better  judgment.  But  this  is  no  time  foi 
recrimination.  De  Bracy  and  I  will  instantly  go 
among  these  shuffling  cowards,  and  convince  them 
fhey  have  gone  too  far  to  recede.” 

“It  will  be  in  vain,”  said  Prince  John,  pacing  the 
apartment  with  disordered  steps,  and  expressing 


Ivan  hoe 


201 


himself  with  an  agitation  to  which  the  wine  he  had 
drank  partly  contributed — “It  will  be  in  vain— they 
have  seen  the  handwriting  on  the  wall1 — they  have 
marked  the  paw  of  the  lion  in  the  sand — they  have 
heard  his  approaching  roar  shake  the  wood — noth¬ 
ing  will  reanimate  their  courage.” 

“Would  to  God/’  said  Fitzurse  to  De  Bracy,  “that 
aught  could  reanimate  his  own !  His  brother’s  very 
name  is  an  ague  to  him.  Unhappy  are  the  counsel¬ 
ors  of  a  prince,  who  wants  fortitude  and  persever¬ 
ance  alike  in  good  and  in  evil!” 


’Daniel  V. 

Question  :  In  what  way  does  this  chapter  prepare  for 
the  second  great  place  of  action,  the  storming  of  the  cas¬ 
tle? 


CHAPTER  XV 


And  yet  lie  thinks, — ha,  ha,  ha,  ha, — he  thinks 
I  am  the  tool  and  servant  of  his  will. 

Well,  let  it  be ;  through  all  the  maze  of  trouble 
His  plots  and  base  oppression  must  create, 

I’ll  shape  myself  a  way  to  higher  things. 

And  who  will  say  ’tis  wrong? 

Basil,  a  Tragedy. 

No  spider  ever  took  more  pain's  to  repair  the  shat¬ 
tered  meshes  of  his  web,  than  did  Waldemar  Fitz- 
urse  to  reunite  and  combine  the  scattered  members 
of  Prince  John’s  cabal.  Few  of  these  were  attached 
to  him  from  inclination,  and  none  from  personal  re¬ 
gard.  It  was  therefore  necessary,  that  Fitzurse 
should  open  to  them  new  prospects  of  advantage, 
and  remind  them  of  those  which  they  at  present  en¬ 
joyed.  To  the  young  and  wild  nobles,  he  held  out 
the  prospect  of  unpunished  license  and  uncontrolled 
revelry;  to  the  ambitious,  that  of  power,  and  to  the 
covetous,  that  of  increased  wealth  and  extended  do¬ 
mains.  The  leaders  of  the  mercenaries  received  a 
donation  in  gold;  an  argument  the  most  persuasive 
to  their  minds,  and  without  which  all  others  would 
have  proved  in  vain.  Promises  were  still  more  lib¬ 
erally  distributed  than  money  by  this  active  agent; 
and,  in  fine,  nothing  was  left  undone  that  could 
determine  the  wavering,  or  animate  the  disheartened. 
The  return  of  King  Richard  he  spoke  of  as  an  event  al¬ 
together  beyond  the  reach  of  probability;  yet,  when 
he  observed,  from  the  doubtful  looks  and  uncertain 
answers  which  he  received,  that  this  was  the  ap¬ 
prehension  by  which  the  minds  of  his  accomplices 
were  most  haunted,  he  boldly  treated  that  event, 
should  it  really  take  place,  as  one  which  ought  not 
to  alter  their  political  calculations. 


IVANHOE 


203 


I 

“If  Richard  returns,”  said  Fitzurse,  “he  returns 
to  enrich  his  needy  and  impoverished  crusaders  at 
the  expense  of  those  who  did  not  follow  him  to  the 
Holy  Land.  He  returns  to  call  to  a  fearful  reckon¬ 
ing,  those  who,  during  his  absence,  have  done  aught 
that  can  be  construed  offense  or  encroachment  upon 
i  either  the  laws  of  the  land  or  the  privileges  of  the 
crown.  He  returns  to  avenge  upon  the  Orders  of 
the  Temple  and  the  Hospital,  the  preference  which 
they  showed  to  Philip  of  France  during  the  wars  in 
the  Holy  Land.  He  returns,  in  fine,  to  punish  as  a 
rebel  every  adherent  of  his  brother  Prince  John. 
Are  ye  afraid  of  his  power?”  continued  the  artful 
confidant  of  that  Prince;  “we  acknowledge  him  a 
strong  and  valiant  knight;  but  these  are  not  the 
days  of  King  Arthur,  when  a  champion  could  en¬ 
counter  an  army.  If  Richard  indeed  comes  back,  it 
must  be  alone, — unfollowed — unfriended.  The  bones 
of  his  gallant  army  have  whitened  the  sands  of  Pal¬ 
estine.  The  few  of  his  followers  who  have  returned 
have  straggled  hither  like  this  Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe, 
beggarded  and  broken  men. — And  what  talk  ye  of 
Richard’s  right  of  birth?”  he  proceeded,  in  answer 
to  those  who  objected  scruples  on  that  head.  “Is 
Richard’s  title  of  primogeniture  more  decidedly  cer¬ 
tain  than  that  of  Duke  Robert1  of  Normandy,  the 
Conqueror’s  eldest  son?  And  yet  William  the  Red, 
and  Henry,  his  second  and  third  brothers,  were  suc¬ 
cessively  preferred  to  him  by  the  voice  of  the  na¬ 
tion.  Robert  had  every  merit  wTiich  can  be  pleaded 


Although  Robert  was  the  oldest  son  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  he  could  not  gain  the  throne  which  he  thought 
belonged  to  him  from  right  of  birth.  Fitzurse  used  this 
example  as  encouragement  to  weak  followers  of  John. 

Question  :  Name  six  reasons  that  Fitzurse  gives  for 
the  nobles’  adhering  to  the  cause  of  Prince  John. 


204 


IVANHOE 


for  Richard;  he  was  a  bold  knight,  a  good  leader, 
generous  to  his  friends  and  to  the  church,  ana,  to 
crown  the  whole,  a  crusader  and  a  conqueror  of  tho 
Holy  Sepulcher;  and  yet  he  died  a  blind  and  miser¬ 
able  prisoner  in  the  Castle  of  Cardiff,  because  ht  op¬ 
posed  himself  to  the  will  of  the  people,  who  chose 
that  he  should  not  rule  over  them.  It  is  our  right,” 
he  said,  “to  choose  from  the  blood  royal  the  prince 
who  is  best  qualified  to  hold  the  supreme  power — 
that  is,”  said  he,  correcting  himself,  “him  whose 
election  will  best  promote  the  interests  of  the  no¬ 
bility.  In  personal  qualifications,”  he  added,  “it  was 
possible  that  Prince  John  might  be  inferior  to  his 
brother  Richard,  but  when  it  was  considered  that 
the  latter  returned  with  the  sword  of  vengeance  in 
his  hand,  while  the  former  held  out  rewards,  im¬ 
munities,  privileges,  wealth,  and  honors,  it  couia 
not  be  doubted  which  was  the  king  whom  in  wisdom 
the  nobility  were  called  on  to  support.” 

These,  and  many  more  arguments,  some  adapted 
to  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  those  whom  he  ad¬ 
dressed,  had  the  expected  weight  with  the  nobles 
of  Prince  John’s  faction.  Mpst  of  them  consented 
to  attend  the  proposed  meeting  at  York,  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  making  general  arrangements  for  placing 
the  crown  upon  the  head  of  Prince  John. 

It  was  late  at  night,  when,  worn  out  and  ex¬ 
hausted  with  his  various  exertions,  however  grati¬ 
fied  with  the  result,  Fitzurse,  returning  to  the  Cas¬ 
tle  of  Ashby,  met  with  De  Bracy,  who  had  exchanged 
his  banqueting  garments  for  a  short  green  kirtle, 
with  hose  of  the  same  cloth  and  color,  a  leathern 
cap  or  headpiece,  a  short  sword,  a  horn  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  a  long-bow  in  his  hand,  and  a  bundle 
of  arrows  stuck  in  his  belt.  Had  Fitzurse  met  this 
figure  in  an  outer  apartment,  he  would  have  passed 


IVANHOE 


205 


him  without  notice,  as  one  of  the  yeomen  of  the 
guard;  but  finding  him  in  the  inner  hall,  he  looked 
at  him  with  more  attention,  and  recognized  the  Nor¬ 
man  knight  in  the  dress  of  an  English  yeoman. 

“What  mummery  is  this,  De  Bracy?”  said  Fitz- 
urse,  somewhat  angrily;  “is  this  a  time  for  Christ¬ 
mas  gambols  and  quaint  markings,  when  the  fate  of 
our  master,  Prince  John,  is  on  the  very  verge  of 
decision?  Why  hast  thou  not  been,  like  me,  among 
these  heartless  cravens,  whom  the  very  name  of 
King  Richard  terrifies,  as  it  is  said  to  do  the  chil¬ 
dren  of  the  Saracens  ?” 

“I  have  been  attending  to  mine  own  business,”  an¬ 
swered  De  Bracy  calmly,  “as  you,  Fitzurse,  have 
been  minding  yours.” 

“I  minding  mine  own  business!”  echoed  Walde- 
mar;  “I  have  been  engaged  in  that  of  Prince  John, 
our  joint  patron.” 

“As  if  thou  hadst  any  other  reason  for  that, 
Waldemar,”  said  De  Bracy,  “than  the  promotion  of 
thine  own  individual  interest?  Come,  Fitzurse,  we 
know  each  other — ambition  is  thy  pursuit,  pleasure 
is  mine,  and  they  become  our  different  ages.  Of 
Prince  John  thou  thinkest  as  I  do;  that  he  is  too 
weak  to  be  a  determined  monarch,  too  tyrannical  to 
be  an  easy  monarch,  too  insolent  and  presumptuous 
to  be  a  popular  monarch,  and  too  fickle  and  timid 
to  be  long  a  monarch  of  any  kind.  But  he  is  a  mon¬ 
arch  by  whom  Fitzurse  and  De  Bracy  hope  to  rise 
and  thrive;  and  therefore  you  aid  him  with  your 
policy,  and  I  with  the  lances  of  my  Free  Compan¬ 
ions.” 

“A  hopeful  auxiliary,”  said  Fitzurse  impatiently; 
“playing  the  fool  in  the  very  moment  of  utter  neces¬ 
sity.— What  on  earth  dost  thou  purpose  by  this  ob- 
surd  disguise  at  a  moment  so  urgent?” 


206 


IVANHOE 


“To  get  me  a  wife,”  answered  De  Bracy  coolly, 
“after  the  manner  of  the  tribe  of  Benjamin.” 

“The  tribe  of  Benjamin?”  said  Fitzurse;  “I  com¬ 
prehend  thee  not.” 

“Wert  thou  not  in  presence  yester-even,’’  said  De 
Bracy,  “when  we  heard  the  Prior  Aymer  tell  us  a 
tale'  in  reply  to  the  romance  which  was  sung  by  the 
Minstrel? — He  told  how,  long  since  in  Palestine,  a 
deadly  feud  arose  between  the  tribe  of  Benjamin 
and  the  rest  of  the  Israelitish  nation;  and  how  they 
cut  to  pieces  well-nigh  all  the  chivalry  of  that  tribe ; 
and  how  they  swore  by  our  blessed  Lady  that  they 
would  not  permit  those  who  remained  to  marry  in 
their  lineage;  and  how  they  became  grieved  for 
their  vow,  and  sent  to  consult  his  holiness  the  Pope 
how  they  might  be  absolved  from  it;  and  how,  by 
the  advice  of  the  Holy  Father,  the  youth  of  the  tribe 
of  Benjamin  carried  off  from  a  superb  tournament 
all  the  ladies  who  were  there  present,  and  thus  won 
them  wives  without  the  consent  either  of  their 
brides  or  their  brides’  families.” 

“I  have  heard  the  story,”  said  Fitzurse,  “though 
either  the  Prior  or  thou  hast  made  some  singular 
alterations  in  date  and  circumstances.” 

“I  tell  thee,”  said  De  Bracy,  “that  I  mean  to  pur¬ 
vey  me  a  wife  after  the  fashion  of  the  tribe  of  Ben¬ 
jamin;  which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  in  this  same 
equipment  I  will  fall  upon  that  herd  of  Saxon  bul¬ 
locks,  who  have  this  night  left  the  castle,  and  carry 
off  from  them  the  lovely  Rowena.” 

“Art  thou  mad,  De  Bracy?”  said  Fitzurse.  “Be¬ 
think  thee  that,  though  the  men  be  Saxons,  they  are 
rich  and  powerful  and  regarded  with  the  more  re¬ 
spect  by  their  countrymen,  that  wealth  and  honor 
are  but  the  lot  of  few  of  Saxon  descent.” 


1  Judges  XXL 


IVANHOE 


207 


“And  should  belong  to  none,”  said  De  Bracy;  “the 
work  of  the  Conquest  should  be  completed.” 

“This  is  no  time  for  it  at  ieast,”  said  Fitzurse; 
“the  approaching  crisis  renders  the  favor  of  the 
multitude  indispensable,  and  Prince  John  cannot  re¬ 
fuse  justice  to  any  one  who  injures  their  favorites.” 

“Let  him  grant  it,  if  he  dare,”  said  De  Bracy; 
“he  will  soon  see  the  difference  betwixt  the  support 
of  such  a  lusty  lot  of  spears  as  mine,  and  that  of 
a  heartless  mob  of  Saxon  churls.  Yet  I  mean  no 
immediate  discovery  of  myself.  Seem  I  not  in  this 
garb  as  bold  a  forester  as  ever  blew  horn?  The 
blame  of  the  violence  shall  rest  with  the  outlaws 
of  the  Yorkshire  forests.  I  have  sure  spies  on  the 
'  Saxons’  motions — To-night  they  sleep  in  the  convent 
of  St.  Wittol,  or  Withold,  or  whatever  they  call  that 
l,  churl  of  a  Saxon  saint  at  Burton-on-Trent.  Next 
day’s  march  brings  them  within  our  reach,  and, 
falcon-ways,  we  swoop  on  them  at  once.  Presently 
after  I ‘will  appear  in  mine  own  shape,  play  the 
i  courteous  knight,  rescue  the  unfortunate  and  af¬ 
flicted  fair  one  from  the  hands  of  the  rude  ravish- 
Ijers,  conduct  her  to  Front-de-Bceuf’s  Castle,  or  to 
Normandy,  if  it  'should  be  necessary,  and  produce 
;her  not  again  to  her  kindred  until  she  be  the  bride 
i|and  dame  of  Maurice  de  Bracy.” 

“A  marvelous  sage  plan,”  said  Fitzurse,  “and,  as 
1  think,  not  entirely  of  thine  own  device. — Come, 
be  frank,  De  Bracy,  who  aided  thee  in  the  inven¬ 
tion?  and  who  is  to  assist  in  the  execution?  for,  as 
I  think,  thine  own  band  lies  as  far  off  as  York.’’ 

“Marry,  if  thou  must  needs  know,”  said  De  Bracy, 
“it  was  the  Templar  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  that 
shaped  out  the  enterprise,  which  the  adventure  of 
the  men  of  Benjamin  suggested  to  me.  He  is  to 
aid  me  in  the  onslaught,  and  he  and  his  followers 


208 


Ivanhoe 


will  personate  the  outlaws,  from  whom  my  valor- 
out  arm  is,  after  changing  my  garb,  to  rescue  the 
lady.” 

“By  my  halidom,”  said  Fitzurse,  “the  plan  was 
worthy  of  your  united  wisdom!  and  thy  prudence. 
De  Bracy,  is  most  especially  manifested  in  the  proj¬ 
ect  of  leaving  the  lady  in  the  hands  of  thy  worthy 
confederate.  Thou  mayst,  I  think,  succeed  in  taking 
her  from  her  Saxon  friends,  but  how  thou  wilt  re¬ 
scue  her  afterwards  from  the  clutches  of  Bois-Guil- 
bert  seems  considerably  more  doubtful — He  is  a  fal¬ 
con  well  accustomed  to  pounce  on  a  partridge,  and  to 
hold  his  prey  fast.” 

“He  is  a  Templar,”  said  De  Bracy,  “and  cannot 
therefore  rival  me  in  my  plan  of  wedding  this  heir¬ 
ess; — and  to  attempt  aught  dishonorable  against  the 
intended  wife  of  De  Bracy — By  Heaven!  were  he  a 
whole  Chapter  of  hils  Order  in  his  single  person,  he 
dared  not  do  me  such  an  injury!” 

“Then  since  naught  that  I  can  say,”  said  Fitzurse, 
“will  put  this  folly  from  thy  imagination,  (for  well 
I  know  the  obstinacy  of  thy  disposition,)  at  least 
waste  as  little  time  as  possible — let  not  thy  folly  be 
lasting  as  well  as  untimely.” 

“I  tell  thee,”  answered  De  Bracy,  “that  it  will  be 
the  work  of  a  few  hours,  and  I  shall  be  at  York  at 
the  head  of  my  daring  and  valorous  fellows,  as 
ready  to  support  any  bold  design  as  thy  policy  can 
b~e  to  form  one. — But  I  hear  my  comrades  assem¬ 
bling,  and  the  steeds  stamping  and  neighing  in  the 
outer  court. — Farewell. — I  go,  like  a  true  knight,  to 
win  the  smiles  of  beauty.” 

“Like  a  true  knight?”  repeated  Fitzurse,  looking 
after  him;  “like  a  fool,  I  should  say,  or  like  a  child, 

Question s  What  is  the  weakness  in  De  Bracy ’s  plan 
for  seizing  Rowena? 


IVANHOE 


209 


vho  will  leave  the  most  serious  and  needful  occupa¬ 
tion,  to  chase  the  down  of  the  thistle  that  drives 
3ast  him. — But  it  is  with  such  tools  that  I  must 
vork; — and  for  whose  advantage? — For  that  of  a 
Prince  as  unwise  as  he  is  profligate,  and  as  likely  to 
)e  an  ungrateful  master  as  he  has  already  proved 
i  rebellious  son  and  an  unnatural  brother. — But  he 
' — he,  too,  is  but  one  of  the  tools  with  which  I  labor; 
and,  proud  as  he  is,  should  he  presume  to  separate 
his  interests  from  mine,  this  is  a  secret  which  he 
shall  soon  learn/’ 

The  meditations  of  the  statesman  were  here  in¬ 
terrupted  by  the  voice  of  the  Prince  from  an  interi¬ 
or  apartment,  calling  out,  “Noble  Waldemar  Fitz- 
urse!”  and,  with  bonnet  doffed,  the  future  Chan- 
celor  (for  to  such  high  preferment  did  the  wily  Nor- 
!man  aspire)  hastened  to  receive  the  orders  of  the 
future  sovereign. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


Far  in  a  wild,  unknown  to  public  view, 

From  youth  to  age  a  reverend  hermit  grew ; 

The  moss  his  bed,  the  cave  his  humble  cell, 

His  food  the  fruits,  his  drink  the  crystal  well ; 

Remote  from  man,  with  God  he  pass'd  his  days, 

Prayer  all  his  business — all  his  pleasure  praise. 

Parnell,  j 

The  reader  cannot  have  forgotten  that  the  event 
of  the  tournament  was  decided  by  the  exertions  of 
an  unknown  knight,  whom,  on  account  of  the  pas¬ 
sive  and  indifferent  conduct  which  he  had  mani¬ 
fested  on  the  former  part  of  the  day,  the  spectators 
had  entitled,  Le  Noir  Faineant.  This  knight  had  left 
the  field  abruptly  when  the  victory  was  achieved;' 
and  when  he  was  called  upon  to  receive  the  reward 
of  his  valor,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  In  the 
meantime,  while  summoned  by  heralds  and  by  trum¬ 
pets,  the  knight  was  holding  his  course  northward, 
avoiding  all  frequented  paths,  and  taking  the  shortest 
road  through  the  woodlands.  He  paused  for  the 
night  at  a  small  hostelry  lying  out  of  the  ordinary 
route,  where,  however,  he  obtained  from  a  wander¬ 
ing  minstrel  news  of  the  event  of  the  tourney. 

On  the  next  morning  the  knight  departed  early, 
with  the  intention  of  making  a  long  journey;  the 
condition  of  his  horse,  which  he  had  carefully 
spared  during  the  preceding  morning,  being  such  as 
enabled  him  to  travel  far  without  the  necessity  of 
much  repose.  Yet  his  purpose  was  baffled  by  the 
devious  paths  through  which  he  rode,  so  that  when 
evening  closed  upon  him,  he  only  found  himself  on 
the  frontiers  of  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire.  By 

Question  :  Is  this  chapter  in  any  way  connected  with 
the  preceding  chapters? 


IVANHOE 


211 


this  time  both  horse  and  man  required  refreshment, 
and  it  became  necessary,  moreover,  to  look  out  for 
some  place  in  which  they  might  spend  the  night, 
which  was  now  fast  approaching. 

The  place  where  the  traveler  found  himself 
seemed  unpropitious  for  obtaining  either  shelter  or 
refreshment,  and  he  was  likely  to  be  reduced  to  the 
usual  expedient  of  knights-errant,  who  on  such  oc¬ 
casions,  turned  their  horses  to  graze  and  laid  them¬ 
selves  down  to  meditate  on  their  lady-mistress,  with 
an  oak-tree  for  a  canopy.  But  the  Black  Knight  either 
had  no  mistress  to  meditate  upon,  or,  being  as  indiffer¬ 
ent  in  love  as  he  seemed  to  be  in  war,  was  not  suf¬ 
ficiently  occupied  by  passionate  reflections  upon  her 
beauty  and  cruelty,  to  be  able  to  parry  the  effects 
of  fatigue  and  hunger,  and  suffer  love  to  act  as  a 
substitute  for  the  solid  comforts  of  a  bed  and  sup¬ 
per.  He  felt  dissatisfied,  therefore,  when,  looking 
around,  he  found  himself  deeply  involved  in  woods, 
through  which  indeed  there  were  many  open  glades, 
and  some  paths,  but  such  as  seemed  only  formed  by 
the  numerous  herds  of  cattle  which  grazed  in  the 
forest,  or  by  the  animals  of  chase,  and  the  hunters 
who  made  prey  of  them. 

The  sun,  by  which  the  knight  had  chiefly  directed 
his  course,  had  now  sunk  behind  the  Derbyshire 
hills  on  his  left,  and  every  effort  which  he  might 
make  to  pursue  his  journey  was  as  likely  to  lead  him 
out  of  his  road  as  to  advance  him  on  his  route.  Aft¬ 
er  having  in  vain  endeavored  to  select  the  most 
beaten  path,  in  hopes  it  might  lead  to  the  cottage 
of  some  herdsman,  or  the  silvan  lodge  of  a  forester, 
and  having  repeatedly  found  himself  totally  unable 
to  determine  on  a  choice,  the  knight  resolved  to 
trust  to  the  sagacity  of  his  horse;  experience  hav¬ 
ing,  on  former  occasions,  made  him  acquainted  with 


212 


Ivan  hoe 


the  wonderful  talent  possessed  by  these  animals  for 
extricating  themselves  and  their  riders  on  such 
emergencies. 

The  good  steed,  grievously  fatigued  with  so  long 
a  day’s  journey  under  a  rider  cased  in  mail,  had  no 
sooner  found,  by  the  slackened  reins,  that  he  was 
abandoned  to  his  own  guidance,  than  he  seemed  to 
assume  new  strength  and  spirit;  and  whereas  for¬ 
merly  he  had  scarce  replied  to  the  spur,  otherwise 
than  by  a  groan,  he  now,  as  if  proud  of  the  confi¬ 
dence  reposed  in  him,  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  as¬ 
sumed,  of  his  own  accord,  a  more  lively  motion.  The 
path  which  the  animal  adopted  rather  turned  off 
from  the  course  pursued  by  the  knight  during  the 
day;  but  as  the  horse  seemed  confident  in  his  choice, 
the  rider  abandoned  himself  to  his  discretion. 

He  was  justified  by  the  event;  for  the  footpath 
soon  after  appeared  a  little  wider  and  more  worn, 
and  Hie  tinkle  of  a  small  bell  gave  the  knight  to  un¬ 
derstand  that  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  some  chapel 
or  hermitage. 

Accordingly,  he  soon  reached  an  open  plat  of  turf, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  which,  a  rock,  rising  abruptly 
from  a  gently  sloping  plain,  offered  its  gray  and 
weather-beaten  front  to  the  traveler.  Ivy  mantled 
its  sides  in  some  places,  and  in  others  oa*ks  and 
holly  bushes,  whose  roots  found  nourishment  in  the 
cliffs  of  the  crag,  waved  over  the  precipices  below, 
like  the  plumage  of  the  warrior  over  his  steel  hel¬ 
met,  giving  grace  to  that  whose  chief  expression 
was  terror.  At  the  bottom  of  the  rock,  and  leaning, 
as  it  were  against  it,  was  constructed  a  rude  hut, 
built  chiefly  of  the  trunks  of  trees  felled  in  the 
neighboring  forest,  and  secured  against  the  weather 
by  having  its  crevices  stuffed  with  moss  mingled 
with  clay.  The  stem  of  a  young  fir-tree  lopped  of 


Ivan  hoe 


213 


its  branches,  with  a  piece  of  wood  tied  across  near 
the  top,  was  planted  upright  by  the  door,  as  a  rude 
emblem  of  the  holy  cross.  At  a  little  distance  on 
the  right  hand,  a  fountain  of  the  purest  water 
trickled  out  of  the  rock,  and  was  received  in  a  hol¬ 
low  stone,  which  labor  had  formed  into  a  rustic  ba¬ 
sin.  Escaping  from  thence,  the  stream  murmured 
down  the  descent  by  a  channel  which  its  course  had 
long  worn,  and  so  wandered  through  the  little  plain 
to  lose  itself  in  the  neighboring  wood. 

Beside  this  fountain  were  the  ruins  of  a  very 
small  chapel,  of  which  the  roof  had  partly  fallen  in. 
The  building,  when  entire,  had  never  been  above 
sixteen  feet  long  by  twelve  feet  in  breadth,  and  the 
roof,  low  in  proportion,  rested  upon  four  concen¬ 
tric  arches  which  sprung  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  building,  each  supported  upon  a  short  and  heavy 
pillar.  The  ribs  of  two  of  these  arches  remained, 
though  the  roof  had  fallen  down  betwixt  them;  over 
the  others  it  remained  entire.  The  entrance  to  this 
ancient  place  of  devotion  was  under  a  very  low  round 
arch,  ornamented  by  several  courses  of  that  zigzag 
molding,  resembling  shark’s  teeth,  which  appears  so 
often  in  the  more  ancient  Saxon  architecture.  A  bel¬ 
fry  rose  above  the  porch  on  four  small  pillars,  within 
which  hung  the  green  and  weather-beaten  bell,  the 
feeble  sounds  of  which  had  been  some  time  before 
heard  by  the  Black  Knight. 

The  whole  peaceful  and  quiet  scene  lay  glimmer¬ 
ing  in  twilight  before  the  eyes  of  the  traveler,  giv¬ 
ing  him  good  assurance  of  lodging  for  the  night; 
since  it  was  a  special  duty  of  those  hermits  who 
dwelt  in  the  woods,  to  exercise  hospitality  towards 
benighted  and  bewildered  passengers. 

Accordingly,  the  knight  took  no  time  to  consider 
minutely  the  particulars  which  we  have  detailed, 


214 


IVANHOE 


but  thanking  St.  Julian  (the  patron  of  travelers) 
who  had  sent  him  good  harborage,  he  leaped  from 
hts  horse  and  assailed  the  door  of  the  hermitage 
with  the  butt  of  his  lance,  in  order  to  arouse  atten¬ 
tion  and  gain  admittance. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  obtained  any  answer, 
and  the  reply,  when  made,  was  unpropitious. 

“Pass  on,  whosoever  thou  art,”  was  the  answer 
given  by  a  deep,  hoarse  voice  from  within  the  hut, 
“and  disturb  not  the  servant  of  God  and  St.  Dunstan 
in  his  evening  devotions.” 

“Worthy  father,”  answered  the  knight,  “here  is 
a  poor  wanderer  bewildered  in  these  woods,  who 
gives  thee  the  opportunity  of  exercising  thy  charity 
and  hospitality.” 

“Good  brother,”  replied  the  inhabitant  of  the 
hermitage,  “it  has  pleased  Our  Lady  and  St.  Dun¬ 
stan  to  destine  me  for  the  object  of  those  virtues,  in¬ 
stead  of  the  exercise  thereof.  I  have  no  provisions 
here  which  even  a  dog  would  share  with  me,  and  a 
horse  of  any  tenderness  of  nurture  would  despise 
my  couch — pass  therefore  on  thy  way,  and  God 
speed  thee.” 

“But  how,”  replied  the  knight,  “is  it  possible  for 
me  to  find  my  way  through  such  a  wood  as  this,  when 
darkness  is  coming  on?  I  pray  you,  reverend  father, 
as  you  are  a  Christian,  to  undo  your  door,  and  at 
least  point  out  to  me  my  road.” 

“And  I  pray  you,  good  Christian  brother,”  re¬ 
plied  the  anchorite,  “to  disturb  me  no  more.  You 
have  already  interrupted  me,  pater,  two  aves  and  a 
credo,  which  I,  miserable  sinner  that  I  am,  should, 
according  to  my  vow,  have  said  before  moonrise.” 

“The  road — the  road!”  vociferated  the  knight, 
“give  me  directions  for  the  road,  if  I  am  to  expect 
no  more  from  thee.” 


IVANHOE 


215 


“The  road,”  replied  the  hermit,  “is  easy  to  hit. 
The  path  from  the  wood  leads  to  a  morass,  and 
.rom  thence  to  a  ford,  which,  as  the  rains  have 
ibated,  may  now  be  passable.  Wlien  thou  nast 
crossed  the  ford,  thou  wilt  take  care  of  thy  footing 
ip  the  left  bank,  as  it  is  somewhat  precipitous;  and 
the  path,  which  hangs  over  the  river,  has  lately,  as 
.  learn,  (for  I  seldom  leave  the  duties  of  my  chapel), 
*iven  way  in  sundry  places.  Thou  wilt  then  Keep 
straight  forward - ” 

“A  broken  path — a  precipice — a  ford,  and  a 
morass!”  said  the  knight,  interrupting  him, — “Sir 
Permit,  if  you  were  the  holiest  that  ever  wore  beard 
>r  told  beads,  you  shall  scarce  prevail  on  me  to  hold 
;his  road  to-night.  I  tell  thee,  that  thou,  who  lives! 
oy  the  charity  of  the  country — ill-deserved,  as  I 
loubt  it  is — hast  no  right  to  refuse  shelter  to  the 
wayfarer  when  in  distress.  Either  open  the  door 
quickly,  or,  by  the  rood,  I  will  beat  it  down  ana 
make  entry  for  myself.” 

“Friend  wayfarer,”  replied  the  hermit,  “be  not 
importunate;  if  thou  puttest  me  to  use  the  carnal 
weapon  in  mine  own  defense,  it  will  be  e’en  the 
worse  for  you.” 

At  this  moment  a  distant  noise  of  barking  arid 
growling,  which  the  traveler  had  for  some  time 
heard,  became  extremely  loud  and  furious,  and 
made  the  knight  suppose  that  the  hermit,  alarmed 
by  his  threat  of  making  forcible  entry,  had  called 
the  dog-;  who  made  this  clamor  to  aid  him  in  his  de¬ 
fense,  out  of  some  inner  recess  in  which  they  had 
been  kenneled.  Incensed  at  this  preparation  on  the 
hermit’s  part  for  making  good  his  inhospitable  pur¬ 
pose,  the  knight  struck  the  door  so  furiously  with 


’Telling  off  beads  on  the  rosary  as  prayers  are  said. 


216 


1VANH0E 


his  foot,  that  posts  as  well  as  staples  shook  with 
violence. 

The  anchorite,  not  caring  again  to  expose  his 
door  to  a  similar  shock,  now  called  out  aloud,  “Pa¬ 
tience,  patience — spare  thy  strength,  good  traveler, 
and  I  will  presently  undo  the  door,  though,  it  may 
be,  my  doing  so  will  be  little  to  thy  pleasure/' 

The  door  accordingly  was  opened,  and  the  hermit, 
a  large,  strong-built  man,  in  his  sackcloth  gown  and 
hood,  girt  with  a  rope  of  rushes,  stood  before  the 
knight.  He  had  in  one  hand  a  lighted  torch,  or 
link,  and  in  the  other  a  baton  of  crab-tree,  so  thick 
and  heavy,  that  it  might  well  be  termed  a  club.  Two 
large,  shaggy  dogs,  half  greyhound,  half  mastiff, v 
stood  ready  to  rush  upon  the  traveler  as  soon  as  the 
door  should  be  opened.  But  when  the  torch  glanced 
upon  the  lofty  crest  and  golden  spurs  of  the  knight, 
who  stood  without,  the  hermit,  altering  probably  his 
original  intentions,  repressed  the  rage  of  his  aux¬ 
iliaries,  and,  changing  his  tone  to  a  sort  of  churlish 
courtesy,  invited  the  knight  to  enter  his  hut,  making 
excuse  for  his  unwillingness  to  open  his  lodge  after 
sunset,  by  alleging  the  multitude  of  robbers  and  out¬ 
laws  who  were  abroad,  and  who  gave  no  honor  to 
Our  Lady  of  St.  Dunstan,  nor  to  those  holy  men 
who  spent  life  in  their  service. 

“The  poverty  of  your  cell,  good  father,”  said  the 
knight,  looking  around  him,  and  seeing  nothing  but 
a  bed  of  leaves,  a  crucifix  rudely  carved  in  oak,  a 
missal ;  with  a  rough-hewn  table  and  two  stools,  and 
one  or  two  clumsy  articles  of  furniture— “the  pov¬ 
erty  of  your  cell  should  seem  a  sufficient  defense 
against  any  risk  of  thieves,  not  to  mention  the  aid 
°f  two  trusty  dogs,1  large  and  strong  enough,  I  think. 

JIt  was  against  the  law  to  keep  such  dogs  as  these  with¬ 
out  the  permission  of  the  keeper  of  the  forest. 


Ivan  hoe 


217 


j  to  pull  down  a  stag,  and  of  course,  to  match  with 

I  most  men.” 

“The  good  keeper  of  the  forest,”  said  the  hermit, 
“hath  allowed  me  the  use  of  these  animals,  to  pro¬ 
tect  my  solitude  until  the  times  shall  mend.” 

Having  said  this,  he  fixed  his  torch  in  a  twisted 
branch  of  iron  which  served  for  a  candlestick;  and, 
j  placing  the  oaken  trivet  before  the  embers  of  the 
fire,  which  he  refreshed  with  some  dry  wood,  he 
placed  a  stool  upon  one  side  of  the  table,  and  beck¬ 
oned  to  the  knight  to  do  the  same  upon  the  other. 

They  sat  down,  and  gazed  with  great  gravity  at 
each  other,  each  thinking  in  his  heart  that  he  had 
j;  seldom  seen  a  stronger  or  more  athletic  figure  than 
was  placed  opposite  to  him. 

“Reverend  hermit,”  said  the  knight,  after  looking 
I  long  and  fixedly  at  his  host,  “were  it  not  to  interrupt 
your  devout  meditations,  I  would  pray  to  know  three 
things  of  your  holiness;  first,  where  I  am  to  put  my 
horse?— secondly,  what  I  can  have  for  supper? 
thirdly,  where  I  am  to  take  up  my  couch  for  the 

night?”  ,  . 

“I  will  reply  to  ydh,”  said  the  hermit,  “with  my 
finger,  it  being  against  my  rule  to  speak  by  words 
where  signs  can  answer  the  purpose.”  So  saying,  he 
pointed  successively  to  two  corners  of  $he  hut. 
“Your  stable,”  said  he,  “is  there — your  bed  there; 
and,”  reaching  down  a  platter  with  two  handfuls  of 
parched  pease  upon  it  from  the  neighboring  shelf, 
and  placing  it  upon  the  table,  he  added,  your  sup¬ 
per  is  here.” 

The  knight  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  leaving 
the  hut,  brought  in  his  horse,  (which  in  the  interim 
he  had  fastened  to  a  tree.)  unsaddled  him  with  much 
attention,  and  spread  upon  the  steed's  weary  back 
his  own  mantle. 


218 


IVANHOE 


The  hermit  was  apparently  somewhat  moved  to 
compassion  by  the  anxiety  as  well  as  address  which 
the  stranger  displayed  in  tending  his  horse;  for, 
muttering  something  about  provender  left  for  the 
.keeper’s  palfrey,  he  dragged  out  of  a  recess  a  bundle 
of  forage,  which  he  spread  before  the  knight’s 
charger,  and  immediately  afterwards  shook  down  a 
quantity  of  dried  fern  in  the  corner  which  he  had 
assigned  for  the  rider’s  couch.  The  knight  returned 
him  thanks  for  his  courtesy;  and,  this  duty  none, 
both  resumed  their  seats  by  the  table,  whereon  stood 
the  trencher  of  pease  placed  between  them.  The 
hermit,  after  a  long  grace,  which  had  once  been 
Latin,  but  of  which  original  language  few  traces  re¬ 
mained,  excepting  here  and  there  the  long  rolling 
termination  of  some  word  or  phrase,  set  example 
to  his  guest,  by  modestly  putting  into  a  very  large 
mouth,  furnished  with  teeth  which  might  have  ranked 
with  those  of  a  boar  both  in  sharpness,  and  white¬ 
ness,  some  three  or  four  dried  pease,  a  miserable 
grist  as  it  seemed  for  so  large  and  able  a  mill. 

The  knight,  in  order  to  follow  so  laudable  an  ex¬ 
ample,  laid  aside  his  helmet,  his  corselet,  and  the 
greater  part  of  his  armor,  and  showed  to  the  hermit 
a  head  thick-curled  with  yellow  hair,  high  features, 
blue  eyes,  remarkably  bright  and  sparkling,  a  mouth 
well  formed,  having  an  upper  lip  clothed  with  mus¬ 
taches  darker  than  his  hair,  and  bearing  altogether 
the  look  of  a  bold,  daring,  and  enterprising  man, 
with  which  his  strong  form  well  corresponded. 

The  hermit,  as  if  wishing  to  answer  to  the  confi¬ 
dence  of  his  guest,  threw  back  his  cowl,  and  showed 
a  round  bullet  head  belonging  to  a  man  in  the  prime 
of  life.  His  close-shaven  crown,  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  stiff  curled  black  hair,  had  something  the 
appearance  of  a  parish  pinfold  begirt  by  its  high 


IVANHOE 


219 


hedge.  The  features  expressed  nothing  of  monastic 
austerity,  or  of  ascetic  privations;  on  the  contrary, 
it  was  a  bold  bluff  countenance,  with  broad  black 
eyebrows,  a  well-turned  forehead,  and  cheeks  as 
round  and  vermiiion  as  those  of  a  trumpeter,  from 
which  descended  a  long  and  curly  black  beard.  Such 
a  visage,  joined  to  the  brawny  form  of  the  holy  man, 
spoke  rather  of  sirloins  and  haunches,  than  of  pease 
and  pulse.  This  incongruity  did  not  escape  the 
guest.  After  he  had  with  great  difficulty  accom¬ 
plished  the  mastication  of  a  mouthful  of  the  dried 
pease,  he  found  it  absolutely  necessary  to  request  his 
pious  entertainer  to  furnish  him  with  some  liquor; 
who  replied  to  his  request  by  placing  before  him  a 
large  can  of' the  purest  water  from  the  fountain.^ 

“It  is  from  the  well  of  St.  Dunstan,  ’  said  he,  in 
which,  betwixt  sun  and  sun,  he  baptized  five  hundred 
heathen  Danes  and  Britons— blessed  be  his  name!” 
And  applying  his  black  beard  to  the  pitcher,  he  took 
a  draught  much  more  moderate  in  quantity  than  his 
encomium  seemed  to  warrant. 

<fIt  seems  to  me,  reverend  father,”  said  the  knight, 
“that  the  small  morsels  which  you  eat,  together  with 
this  holy,  but  somewhat  thin  beverage,  have  thriven 
with  you  marvelously.  You  appear  a  man  more  fit 
to  win  the  ram  at  a  w  restling  match,  or  the  ring  at 
a  bout  at  quarter-staff,  or  the  bucklers  at  a  sword¬ 
play,  than  to  linger  out  your  time  in  this  desolate 
wilderness,  saying  masses,  and  living  upon  parched 
pease  and  cold  water.” 

“Sir  knight,”  answered  the  hermit,  “your  thoughts, 
like  those  of  the  ignorant  laity,  are  according  to 
the  flesh.  It  has  pleased  Our  Lady  and  my  patron 
saint  to  bless  the  pittance  to  which  t  restrain  my- 

Question:  What  leads  the  knight  to  believe  that  the 
hermit  is  in  disguise? 


220 


IVANHOE 


self,  even  as  the  pulse  and  water  was  blessed  to  thel 
children  Shadrach,  Meshech,  and  Abednego,  whc* 
drank  the  same  rather  than  defile  themselves  with 
wine  and  meats  which  were  appointed  them  by  fhe^ 
ing  of  the  Saracens.”1 2  j 

“Hloly  father,”  said  the  knight,  “upon  whose,] 
countenance  it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  work  suchr 
a  miracle,  permit  a  sinful  layman  to  crave  thy 
name?”  : 

<rThou  mayest  call  me,”  answered  the  hermit,  “the 
Clerk"  of  Copmanhurst,  for  so  I  am  termed  in  these 
parts — they  add,  it  is  true,  the  epithet  holy,  but  1 
stand  not  upon  that,  as  being  unworthy  of  such  addi¬ 
tion. — And  now,  valiant  knight,  may  I  pray  ye  for 
the  name  of  my  honorable  guest?” 

“Truly,”  said  the  knight,  “Holy  Clerk  of  Cop¬ 
manhurst,  men  call  me  in  these  parts  the  Black 
Knight, — many,  sir,  add  to  it  the  epithet  of  Slug¬ 
gard,  whereby  I  am  no  way  ambitious  to  be  distin¬ 
guished.” 

The  hermit  could  scarcely  forbear  from  smiling 
at  his  guest’s  reply. 

“I  see,”  said  he,  “Sir  Sluggish  Knight,  that  thou 
art  a  man  of  prudence  and  of  counsel ;  and  moreover, 
I  see  that  my  poor  monastic  fare  likes  thee  not,  ac¬ 
customed,  perhaps,  as  thou  hast  been,  to  the  license 
of  courts  and  of  camps,  and  the  luxuries  of  cities; 
and  now  I  bethink  me,  Sir  Sluggard,  that  when  the 
charitable  keeper  of  this  forest-walk  left  these  dogs 
for  my  protection,  and  also  those  bundles  of  forage, 
he  left  me  also  some  food,  which,  being  unfit  for  my 

1  Nebuchadnezzar,  King  of  Babylon,  was  referred  to  as  a 
Saracen  after  tbe  custom  of  that  day  of  calling  everyone 
foreign  to  the  faith  a  Saracen.  Scott  slyly  makes  fun 

here. 

2Clergy,  or  educated  man. 


IVANHOE 


221 


ise.  the  very  recollection  of  it  had  escaped  me  amid 
ny  more  weighty  meditations.’" 

“I  dare  be  sworn  he  did  so,”  said  the  knight;  “I 
vas  convinced  that  there  was  better  food  in  the  cell, 
loly  Clerk,  since  you  first  doffed  your  cowl. — Your 
zeeper  is  ever  a  jovial  fellow;  and  none  who  beheld 
hy  grinders  contending  with  these  pease,  and  thy 
hroat  flooded  with  this  uncongenial  element,  could 
!;ee  thee  doomed  to  such  horse-provender  and  horse- 
beverage,”  (pointing  to  the  provisions  upon  the 
able),  “and  refrain  from  mending  thy  cheer.  Let 
is  see  the  keeper’s  bounty,  therefore,  without  delay.” 

The  hermit  cast  a  wistful  look  upon' the  knight,  in 
vhich  there  was  a  sort  of  comic  expression  of  hesi- 
:ation,  as  if  uncertain  how  far  he  should  act  pru- 
lenfly  intrusting  his  guest.  There  was,  however,  as 
nuch  of  bold  frankness  in  the  knight’s  countenance  as 
vas  possible  to  be  expressed  by  features.  His  smile. 
:oo,  had  something  in  it  irresistibly  comic,  and  gave 
an  assurance  of  faith  and  loyalty,  with  which  his 
host  could  not  refrain  from  sympathizing. 

After  exchanging  a  mute  glance  or  two,  the  hermit 
went  to  the  further  side  of  the  hut,  and  opened  a 
hutch,  which  was  concealed  with  great  care  and 
some  ingenuity.  Out  of  the  recesses  of  a  dark  closet, 
into  which  this  aperture  gave  admittance,  he  brought 
a  large  pasty,  baked  in  a  pewter  platter  of  unusual 
dimensions.  This  mighty  dish  he  placed  before  his 
iguest,  who,  using  his  poniard  to  cut  it  open,  lost  no 
time  in  making  himself  acquainted  with  its  contents. 

“How  long  is  it  since  the  good  keeper  has  been 
[here?”  said  the  knight  to  his  host,  after .  having 
swallowed  several  hasty  morsels  of  this  reinforce¬ 
ment  to  the  hermit’s  good  cheer. 

“About  two  months,”  answered  the  father,  hastily. 

“By  the  true  Lord,”  answered  the  knight,  “every- 


222 


IVANHOE 


thing  in  your  hermitage  is  miraculous,  Holy  Clerk! 
for  I  would  have  been  sworn  that  the  fat  buck  which 
furnished  the  venison  had  been  running  on  foot 
within  the  week/’ 

The  hermit  was  somewhat  discountenanced  by  this 
observation;  and,  moreover,  he  made  but  a  poor 
figure  while  gazing  on  the  diminution  of  the  pasty^ 
on  which  his  guest  was  making  desperate  inroads;  a 
warfare  in  which  his  previous  profession  of  absti¬ 
nence  left  him  no  pretext  for  joining. 

“'I  have  been  in  Palestine,  Sir  Clerk,”  said  the 
knight,  stopping  short  of  a  sudden,  “and  I  bethink 
me  it  is  a  custom  there  that  every  host  who  entertains 
a  guest  shall  assure  him  of  the  wholesomeness  of  his 
food,  by  partaking  of  it  along  with  him.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  suspect  so  holy  a  man  of  aught  inhospi¬ 
table  ;  nevertheless  I  will  be  highly  bound  to  you 
would  you  comply  with  this  Eastern  custom.” 

“To  ease  your  unnecessary  scruples,  Sir  Knight, 
I  will  for  once  depart  from  my  rule,”  replied  the 
hermit.  And  as  there  were  no  forks  in  those  days, 
his  clutches  were  instantly  in  the  bowTels  of  the  pasty. 

The  ice  of  ceremony  being  once  broken,  it  seemed 
matter  of  rivalry  between  the  guest  and  the  enter¬ 
tainer  which  should  display  the  best  appetite;  and 
although  the  former  had  probably  fasted  longest,  yet 
the  hermit  fairly  surpassed  him. 

“Holy  Clerk,”  said  the  knight,  when  his  hunger 
was  appeased,  “I  would  gage  my  good  horse  yonder 
against  a  zecchin,  that  that  same  honest  keeper  to 
whom  we  are  obliged  for  the  venison  has  left  thee  a 
stoup  of  wine,  or  a  runlet  of  canary,  or  some  such 
trifle,  by  way  of  ally  to  this  noble  pasty.  This  would 
be  a  circumstance,  doubtless,  totally  unworthy  to 
dwell  in  the  memory  of  so  rigid  an  anchorite;  yet, 
I  think,  were  you  to  search  yonder  crypt  once  more, 


IVANHOE 


223 


you  would  find  that  I  am  right  in  my  conjecture.” 

The  hermit  only  replied  by  a  grin;  and  returning 
to  the  hutch,  he  produced  a  leathern  bottle,  which 
might  contain  about  four  quarts.  He  also  brought 
forth  two  large  drinking  cups,  made  out  ot  the 
horn  of  the  urus,  and  hooped  with  silver.  Having 
made  this  goodly  provision  for  washing  down  the 
supper,  he  seemed  to  think  no  farther  ceremonious 
scruple  necessary  on  his  part;  but  filling  both  cups, 
and  saying,  in  the  Saxon  fashion,  “Waes  hael,  Sir 
Sluggish  Knight!”  he  emptied  his  own  at  a  draught. 

“Drink  hael,  Holy  Clerk  of  Copmanhurst !”  an¬ 
swered  the  warrior,  and  did  his  host  reason  in  a 
similar  brimmer. 

“Holy  Clerk,”  said  the  stranger,  after  the  first 
cup  was  swallowed,  “I  cannot  but  marvel  that  a  man 
possessed  of  such  thews  and  sinews  as  thirfe,  and 
who  therewithal  shows  the  talent  of  so  goodly  a 
trencher-man,  should  think  of  abiding  by  himself  in 
this  wilderness.  In  my  judgment,  you  are  fitter  to 
keep  a  castle  or  a  fort,  eating  of  the  fat  and  drink¬ 
ing  of  the  strong,  than  to  live  here  upon  pulse  and 
water,  or  even  upon  the  charity  of  the  keeper.  At 
least  were  I  as  thou,  I  should  find  myself  both  dis¬ 
port  and  plenty  out  of  the  king’s  deer.  There  is 
many  a  goodly  herd  in  these  forests,  and  a  buck  will 
never  be  missed  that  goes  to  the  use  of  St.  Dunstan’s 
chaplain.” 

“Sir  Sluggish  Knight,”  replied  the  Clerk,  “these 
are  dangerous  words,  and  I  pray  you  to  forbear 
them.  I  am  true  hermit  to  the  king  and  law,  and 
were  I  to  spoil  my  liege’s  game.  I  should  be  sure  of 
the  prison,  and  an  my  gown  saved  me  not,  were  in 
some  peril  of  hanging.” 

“Nevertheless,  were  I  as  thou,”  said  the  knight, 
“I  would  take  my  walk  by  moonlight,  when  foresters 


224 


IVANHOE 


and  keepers  were  warm  in  bed,  and  ever  and  anon, 
— as  I  pattered  my  prayers, — -1  would  let  fly  a  shaft 
among  the  herds  of  dun  deer  that  feed  in  the  glades 
— Resolve  me,  Holy  Clerk,  hast  thou  never  practiced 
such  a  pastime?” 

friend  Sluggard,”  answered  the  hermit,  ‘‘thou 
hast  seen  all  that  can  concern  thee  of  my  housekeep¬ 
ing,  and  something  more  than  he  deserves  who  takes 
up  his  quarters  by  violence.  Credit  me,  it  is  better 
to  enjoy  the  good  which  God  sends  thee,  than  to  be 
impertinently  curious  how  it  comes.  Fill  thy  cup, 
and  welcome;  and  do  not,  I  pray  thee,  by  further 
impertinent  inquiries,  put  me  to  show  that  thou 
could'sf  hardly  have  made  good  thy  lodging  had  I 
been  earnest  to  oppose  thee.” 

“By,  my  faith,”  said  the  knight,  “thou  makest  me 
more  curious  than  ever !  Thou  art  the  most  mysteri¬ 
ous  hermit  I  ever  met;  and  I  will  know  more  of  th^e 
ere  we  part.  As  for  thy  threats,  know,  holy  man, 
thou  speakest  to  one  whose  trade  it  is  to  find  out 
danger  wherever  it  is  to  be  met  with.” 

“Sir  Sluggish  Knight,  I  drink  to  thee,”  said  the 
hermit;  “respecting  thy  valor  much,  but  deeming 
wondrous  slightly  of  thy  discretion.  If  thou  wilt 
take  equal  arms  with  me,  I  will  give  thee,  in  all 
friendship  and  brotherly  love,  such  sufficing  penance 
and  complete  absolution,  that  thou  shalt  not  for  the 
next  twelve  months  sin  the  sin  of  excess  of  curios¬ 
ity.” 

The  knight  pledged  him,  and  desired  him  to  name 
his  weapons. 

“There  is  none,”  replied  the  hermit,  “from  the 
scissors  of  Delilah,1  and  the  tenpenny  nail  of  Jael,2 

^ife  of  Sampson.  Judges  XVI. 

2Wife  of  Heleer.  She  slew  Siserd  by  driving  a  nail  jnto 
his  temples,  Judges  IV,  18-21. 


IVANHOE 


225 


to  the  scimeter  of  Goliath,1  at  which  I  am  not  a 
match  for  thee — But,  if  I  am  to  make  the  election, 
what  sayst  thou,  good  friend,  to  these  trinkets ?” 

Thus  speaking,  he  opened  another  hutch,  and  took 
out  from  it  a  couple  of  broadswords  and  bucklers, 
such  as  were  used  by  the  yeomanry  of  the  period. 
The  knight,  who  watched  his  motions,  observed  that 
this  second  place  of  concealment  was  furnished  with 
two  or  three  good  long-bows,  a  crossbow,  a  bundle 
of  bolts  for  the  latter,  and  baif-a-dozen  sheaves  of 
arrows  for  the  former.  A  harp,  and  other  matters 
of  a  very  uncanonical  appearance,  were  also  visible 
when  this  dark  recess  was  opened. 

“I  promise  thee,  brother  Clerk,”  said  he,  “I  will 
ask  thee  no  more  offensive  questions.  The  contents 
of  that  cupboard  are  an  answer  to  all  my  inquiries ; 
and  I  see  a  weapon  there”  (here  he  stooped  and  took 
out  the  harp)  “on  which  I  would  more  gladly  prove 
my  skill  with  thee,  than  at  the  sword  and  buckler.” 

“I  hope,  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  hermit,  “thou  hast 
given  no  good  reason  for  thy  surname  of  the  Sluggard. 
I  do  promise  thee  I  suspect  thee  grievously.  Never¬ 
theless,  thou  art  my  guest,  and  I  wiil  not  put  thy 
manhood  to  the  proof  without  thine  own  free  will. 
Sit  thee  down,  then,  and  fill  thy  cup;  let  us  drink,  sing, 
and  be  merry.  If  thou  knowesf  ever  a  good  lay. 
thou  shalt  be  welcome  to  a  nook  of  pasty  at  Cop- 
manhurst  so  long  as  I  serve  the  chapel  of  St.  Dun- 
stan,  which,  please  God,  shall  be  till  I  change  my 
grey  covering  for  one  of  green  turf.  But  come,  fill 
a  flagon,  for  it  will  crave  some  time  to  tune  the 
harp;  and  naught  pitches  the  voice  and  sharpens  the 
ear  like  a  cup  of  wine.  For  my  part,  I  love  to  feel 
the  grape  at  my  very  finger-ends  before  they  make 
the  harp-strings  tinkle.” 


8Philistine  giant  killed  by  David  I.  Samuel  XVII, 


CHAPTER  XVII 


At  eve,  within  yon  studious  nook, 

I  ope  my  brass-embossed  book, 

Portray’d  with  many  a  holy  deed 
Of  martyrs  crown’d  with  heavenly  meed  ; 
Then,  as  my  taper  waxes  dim, 

Chant,  ere  I  sleep,  my  measured  hymn. 


Who  but  would  cast  his  pomp  away, 
To  take  my  staff  and  amice  gray. 
And  to  the  world’s  tumultuous  stage 
Prefer  the  peaceful  HermitageF 


Wakton. 


Notwithstanding  the  prescription  of  the  genial 
hermit,'  with  which  his  guest/  willingly  complied,  he 
found  it  no  easy  matter  to  bring  the  harp  to  harm¬ 
ony. 

“Methinks,  holy  father/’  said  he,  “the  instru¬ 
ment  wants  one  string,  and  the  rest  have  been  some¬ 
what  misused.” 


“Ay,  mark’st  thou  that?”  replied  the  hermit;  “that 
shows  thee  a  master  of  the  craft.  Wine  and  was¬ 


sail/”  he  added,  gravely  casting  up  his  eyes- -“all 
the  (fault  of  wine  and  wassail!  I  told  Allan-a- 
Dale/  the  northern  minstrel,  that  he  would  damage 
the  harp  if  he  touched  it  after  the  seventh  cup,  but 
he  would  not  be  controlled — Friend,  I  drink  to  thy 
successful  performance.” 

So  saying,  he  took  off  his  cup  with  much  gravity, 
at  the  same  time  shaking  his  head  at  the  intemper¬ 
ance  of  the  Scottish  harper. 

’“All  readers,  however  slightly  acquainted  with  the  black 
letter,  must  recognize,  in  Clerk  of  Copmanhurst,  Friar 
Tuck,  the  buxom  Confessor  of  Robin  Hood’s  gang,  the  Cur- 
tal  Friar  of  Fountain’s  Abbey” — 'Scott. 

2The  minstrel  of  Robin  Hood’s  out-law  band. 


IVANHOE 


227 


The  knight,  in  the  meantime,  had  brought  the 
strings  into  some  order,  and  after  a  short  prelude, 
isked  his  host  whether  he  would  choose  a  sivente  in 
the  language  of  oc,  or  a  lai  in  the  language  of  out, 
ir  a  virelui,  or  a  ballad  in  the  vulgar  English, 
j  “A  ballad,  a  ballad,”  said  the  hermit,  “against 
all  the  ocs  and  ouis  of  France.  Downright  English 
am  I,  Sir  Knight,  and  downright  English  was  my 
patron  St.  Dunstan,  and  scorned  oc  and  oui,  as  he 
would  have  scorned  the  parings  of  the  devil’s  hoof — 
downright  English  alone  shall  be  sung  in  this  cell.” 

“I  will  assay,  then,”  said  the  knight,  “a  ballad 
composed  by  a  Saxon  glee-man,  whom  I  knew  In 
Holy  Land.” 

It  speedily  appeared,  that  if  the  knight  was  not  a 
complete  master  of  the  minstrel  art,  his  taste  for  it 
had  at  least  been  cultivated  under  the  best  instruc¬ 
tors.  Art  had  taught  him  to  soften  the  faults  of  a 
voice  which  had  little  compass,  and  was  naturally 
rough  rather  than  mellow,  and,  in  short,  had  done 
all  tnat  culture  can  do  in  supplying  natural  deficien¬ 
cies.  R,is  performance,  therefore,  might  have  been 
termed  very  respectable  by  abler  judges  than  the 
hermit,  especially  as  the  knight  threw  into  the  notes 
now  a  degree  of  spirit,  and  now  of  plaintive  en¬ 
thusiasm,  which  gave  force  and  energy  to  the  verses 
which  he  sung. 

THE  CRUSADER’S  RETURN 
1 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame. 

From  Palestine  the  champion  came; 

The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne. 

Rattle  and  blast  had  dimm’d  and  torn. 

Each  dint  upon  his  batter’d  shie'd 

Was  token  of  a  foughten  field; 

And  thus,  beneath  his  lady’s  bower. 

He  sung,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour ; — 


228 


Ivan  hoe 


2 

“Joy  to  the  fair! — thy  knight  behold, 

Return’d  from  yonder  land  of  gold ; 

No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 

Save  his  good  arms,  and  battle-steed ; 

His  spurs,  to  dash  against  a  foe, 

His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low ; 

Such  all  the  trophies  of  his  toil, 

Such — and  the  hope  of  Tekla’s  smile ! 

3 

“Joy  to  the  fair !  whose  constant  knight 
Her  favor  fired  to  feats  of  might ; 

Unnoted  shall  she  not  remain, 

Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train ; 

Minstrel  shall  sing  and  herald  tell — 

‘Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well, 

’Tis  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 
The  listed  field  at  Askalon ! 

4 

“  ‘Note  well  her  smile ! — it  edged  the  blade 
Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made, 

When,  vain  his  strength  and  Mahound’s  spell, 
Iconium’s  turban’d  Soldan1  fell. 

Seest  thou  her  locks,  whose  sunny  glow 
Half  shows,  half  shades  her  neck  of  snow? 

Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread, 

But  for  its  sake  a  Paynim  bled.’ 

5 

“Joy  to  the  fair! — my  name  unknown, 

Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise  thine  own ; 

Then,  oh !  unbar  this  churlish  gate, 

The  night  dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 

Inured  to  Syria’s  glowing  breath, 

I  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death ; 

Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame, 

And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame.” 

During  this  performance,  the  hermit  demeaned 
himself  much  like  a  first-rate  critic  of  the  present 


IVANHOE 


229 


day  at  a  new  opera.  He  reclined  back  upon  his 
seat,  with  his  eyes  half  shut;  now,  folding  his  hands 
and  twisting  his  thumbs,  he  seemed  absorbed  in  at¬ 
tention,  and  anon,  balancing  his  expanded  palms,  he 
gently  nourished  them  in  time  to  the  music.  At  one 
or  two  favorite  cadences,  he  threw  in  a  little  assist¬ 
ance  of  his  own,  where  the  knight’s  voice  seemed  un- 
I  able  10  carry  the  air  so  high  as  his  worshipful  taste 
approved.  When  the  song  was  ended,  the  anchorite 
emphatically  declared  it  a  good  one,  and  well  sung. 

“And  yet,”  said  he,  “I  think  my  Saxon  country¬ 
men  had  herded  long  enough  with  the  Normans,  to 
fall  into  the  tone  of  their  melancholy  ditties.  What 
took  the  honest  knight  from  home?  or  what  could 
he  expect  but  to  find  his  mistress  agreeably  engaged 
with  a  rival  on  his  return,  and  his  serenade,  as  they 
call  it,  as  little  regarded  as  the  cater-wauhng  of  a 
cat  in  the  gutter?  Nevertheless,  Sir  Knight,  I  drink 
this  cup  to  thee,  to  the  success  of  all  true  lovers — I 
rear  you  are  none,”  he  added  on  ooservmg  that  the 
knight  (whose  brain  began  to  be  heated  with  these 
repeated  draughts)  qualified  his  flagon  from  the 
water  pitcher. 

“Why,”  said  the  knight,  “did  you  not  tell  me  that 
this  water  was  from  the  well  of  your  blessed  patron, 
St.  Dunstan?” 

“Ay,  truly,”  said  the  hermit,  “and,  many  a  hun¬ 
dred  of  pagans  did  he  baptize  there,  but  I  never 
heard  that  he  drank  any  of  it.  Everything  should 
be  put  to  its  proper  use  in  this  world.  St.  Dun.:tan 
knew,  as  well  as  any  one,  the  prerogatives  of  a  jovial 
friar.” 

And  so  saying,  he  reached  the  harp,  and  enter¬ 
tained  his  guest  with  the  following  characteristic 


230 


Ivan  hoe 


song,  to  a  sort  of  derry-down  chorus,'  appropriate  to 
an  old  English  ditty. 

THE  BAREFOOTED  FRIAR 

1 

I’ll  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelve  month  or  twain, 

To  search  Europe,  through,  from  Byzantium  to  Spain ; 

But  ne’er  shall  you  find,  should  you  search  till  you  tire,  1 
So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

2 

Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 

And  is  brought  home  at  even-song  prick’d  through  with  a 
spear. 

I  confess  him  in  haste — for  his  lady  desires 
No  comfort  on  earth  save  the  Barefooted  Friar’s. 

3 

Your  monarch? — Pshaw!  many  a  Prince  has  been  known 
To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our  gown, 

But  which  of  us  e’er  felt  the  idle  desire 
To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  gray  hood  of  a  Friar ! 

4 

The  Friar  has  walked  out,  and  where’er  he  has  gone, '  1 
The  land  and  its  fatness  is  mark’d  for  his  own ; 

He  can  roam  where  he  lists,  he  can  stop  when  he  tires, 
For  every  man’s  house  is  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

5 

He’s  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight  till  he  comes 
May  profane  the  great  chair,  or  the  porridge  of  plums; 
For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the  fire, 

Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 


'“It  may  be  proper  to  remind  the  reader,  that  the  chorus 
of  “derry-down”  is  supposed  to  be  as  ancient,  not  only  as 
the  times  of  the  Heptarchy,  but  as  those  of  the  Druids,  and 
to  have  furnished  the  chorus  to  the  hymns  of  those  vener¬ 
able  persons  when  they  went  to  the  wood  to  gather  mis- 
tleto^’— Scott 


IVANHOE  231 


6 

He’s  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty’s  made  hot, 

They  broach  the  brown  ale,  and  they  till  the  black  pot. 

And  the  goodwife  would  wish  the  goodman  in  the  mire, 
Ere  he  lack’d  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

7 

Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the  cope, 

The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope  ; 

For  to  gather  life’s  roses,  unscathed  by  the  briar, 

Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

“By  my  troth/’  said  the  knight,  “thou  hast  sung 
well  and  lustily,  and  in  high  praise  of  thine  order. 
And,  talking  of  the  devil,  Holy  Clerk,  are  you  not 
ji  afraid  that  he  may  pay  you  a  visit  during  some  of 
I  your  uncanonical  pastimes?” 

!j  “I  uncanonical!”  answered  the  hermit;  I  scorn 
1  the  charge — I  scorn  it  with  my  heels ! — I  serve  the 
duty  of  my  chapel  duly  and  truly — Two  masses 
daily,  morning  and  evening,  primes,  noons,  and  ves¬ 
pers,  aves,  credos,  paters — ” 
i  “Excepting  moonlight  nights,  when  the  venison 
is  in  season,”  said  his  guest. 

“Exceytis  exceytendis ,m  replied  the  hermit,  as 
our  old  abbot  taught  me  to  say.  when  impertinent 
laymen  should  ask  me  if  I  kept  ever  a  punctilio  of 
mine  order.” 

“True,  holy  father,”  said  the  knight;  ‘but  the 
devil  is  apt  to  keep  an  eye  on  such  exceptions;  he 
goes  about,  thou  knowest,  like  a  roaring  lion.” 

“Let  him  roar  here  if  he  dares,”  said  the  friar; 
“a  touch  of  my  cord  will  make  him  roar  as  loud  as 
the  tongs  of  Saint  Dunstan  himself  did.  I  never 
feared  man,  and  I  as  little  fear  the  devil  and  his 
imps.  Saint  Dunstan,  Saint  Dubric,  Saint  Wmi- 


^xcepting  what  is  to  be  excepted. 


232 


1VANH0E 


bald,  Saint  Winifred,1  Saint  Swibert,  Saint  Willick, 
not  forgetting  Saint  Thomas  a  Kent,  and  my  own 
poor  merits  to  speed,  I  defy  every  devil  of  them, 
come  cut  and  long  tail. — But  to  let  you  into  a  secret, 
I  never  speak  upon  such  subjects,  my  friends,  until 
after  morning  vespers.” 

He  changed  the  conversation;  fast  and  furious 
grew  the  mirth  of  the  parties,  and  many  a  song  was 
exchanged  betwixt  them,  when  their  revels  were  in¬ 
terrupted  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door  of  the 
hermitage. 

The  occasion  of  this  interruption  we  can  only  ex¬ 
plain  by  resuming  the  adventures  of  another  set  of 
our  characters;  for,  like  old  Ariosto,  we  do  not  pique 
ourselves  upon  continuing  uniformly  to  keep  com¬ 
pany  with  any  one  personage  of  our  drama. 


*The  hermit  refers  to  English  and  Welsh  saints  because 

be  probably  knew  no  others. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


Away !  our  journey  lies  through  dell  and  dingle, 
Where  the  blithe  fawn  trips  by  its  timid  mother, 
Where  the  broad  oak,  with  intercepting  boughs, 
Checquers  the  sunbeam  in  the  greensward  alley — 
Up  and  away ! — for  lovely  paths  are  these 
To  tread,  when  the  glad  sun  is  on  his  throne; 

Less  pleasant,  and  less  safe,  when  Cynthia’s  lamp 
With  doubtful  glimmer  lights  the  dreary  forest. 

Ettrich  Forest. 

When  Cedric  the  Saxon  saw  his  son  drop  down 
senseless  in  the  lists  at  Ashby,  his  first  impulse  was 
to  order  him  into  the  custody  and  care  of  his  own 
j  attendants,  but  the  words  choked  in  his  throat.  He 
could  not  bring  himself  to  acknwoledge,  in  presence 
of  such  an  assembly,  the  son  whom  he  had  renounced 
and  disinherited.  He  ordered,  however,  Oswald 
to  keep  an  eye  upon  him;  and  directed  that  officer, 
with  two  of  his  serfs,  to  convey  Ivanhoe  to  Ashby  as 
soon  as  the  crowd  had  dispersed. 

Otewald,  however,  was  anticipated  in  this  good 
!  office.  The  crowd  dispersed,  indeed,  but  the  knight 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Cedric’s  cup-bearer  looked 
||  around  for  his  young  master.  He  saw  the  bloody 
|  spot  on  which  he  had  lately  sunk  down,  but  himself 
he  saw  no  longer;  it  seemed  as  if  the  fairies  had 
;  conveyed  him  from  the  spot.  Perhaps  Oswald  (for 
I  the  Saxons  were  very  superstitious)  might  have 
j  adopted  some  such  hypothesis,  to  account  for  Ivap- 
hoe’s  disappearance,  had  he  not  suddenly  cast  his 
eye  upon  a  person  attired  like  a  squire,  in  whom  he 
recognized  the  features  of  his  fellow-servant  Gurth. 
Anxious  concerning  his  master’s  fate,  and  in  despair 
at  his  sudden  disappearance,  the  translated  swine- 


234 


IVANHOE 


herd  was  searching  for  him  everywhere,  and  had 
neglected,  in  doing  so,  the  concealment  on  which  his 
own  safety  depended.  Oswald  deemed  it  his  duty  to 
secure  Gurth,  as  a  fugitive  of  whose  fate  his  master 
was  to  judge. 

rceiicwmg  nis  inquiries  concerning  the  fate  of 
Ivanhoe,  the  only  information  which  the  cup-bearer 
could  collect  from  the  bystanders  was,  that  the 
knight  had  been  raised  with  care  by  certain  well- 
attired  grooms,  and  placed  in  a  litter  belonging  to 
a  lady  among  the  spectators,  which  had  immediate¬ 
ly  transported  him  out  of  the  press.  Oswald,  on  re¬ 
ceiving  this  intelligence,  resolved  to  return  to  his 
master  for  farther  instructions,  carrying  along  with 
him  Gurth,  whom  he  considered  in  some  sort  as  a 
deserter  from  the  service  of  Cedric. 

The  Saxon  had  been  under  very  intense  and  agon¬ 
izing  apprehensions  concerning  his  son;  for  Nature 
had  asserted  her  rights,  in  spite  of  the  patriotic 
stoicism  which  labored  to  disown  her.  But  no  sooner 
was  he  informed  that  Ivanhoe  was  in  careful,  and 
probably  in  friendly  hands,  than  the  paternal  anxi¬ 
ety  which  had  been  excited  by  the  dubiety  of  his 
fate,  gave  way  anew  to  the  feeling  of  injured  pride 
and  resentment,  at  what  he  termed  Wilfred’s  filial 
disobedience.  “Let  him  wander  his  way,”  said  he, 
— ‘‘let  those  leech  his  wounds  for  whose  sake  he  en¬ 
countered  them.  He  is  fitter  to  do  the  juggling 
tricks  of  the  Norman  chivalry  than  to  maintain  the 
fame  and  honor  of  his  English  ancestry  with  the 
glaive  and  brown-bill,  the  good  old  weapons  of  his 
country.” 

“If  to  maintain  the  honor  of  ancestry,”  said  Row- 
ena,  who  was  present,  “it  is  sufficient  to  be  wise  in 
council  and  brave  in  execution — to  be  boldest  among 


Ivan  hoe 


235 


the  bold,  and  gentlest  among  the  gentle,  I  knovt  no 
voice  save  his  father’s - ” 

“Be  silent,  Lady  Rowena! — on  this  subject  only 
I  hear  you  not.  Prepare  yourself  for  the  Prince’s 
festival:  we  have  been  summoned  thither  with  un¬ 
wonted  circumstance  of  honor  and  of  courtesy,  such 
as  the  haughty  Normans  have  rarely  used  to  our 
race  since  the  fatal  day  of  Hastings.  Thither  will 
I  go,  were  it  only  to  show  these  proud  Normans 
how  little  the  fate  of  a  son,  who  could  defeat  their 
bravest,  can  affect  a  Saxon.” 

“Thither,”  said  Rowena,  “do  I  NOT  go;  and  I 
pray  you  to  beware,  lest  what  you  mean  for  courage 
and  constancy  shall  be  accounted  hardness  of  heart.” 

'•Remain  at  home,  then,  ungrateful  ladyr,”  an¬ 
swered  Cedric;  “thine  is  the  hard  heart,  which  can 
sacrifice  the  weal  of  an  oppressed  people  to  an  idle 
and  unauthorized  attachment.  I  seek  the  noble 
Athelstane,  and  with  him  attend  the  banquet  of 
John  of  AAjou.” 

He  went  accordingly  to  the  banquet,  of  which  we 
have  already  mentioned  the  principal  events.  Im¬ 
mediately  upon  retiring  from  the  castle,  the  Saxon 
thanes,  with  their  attendants,  took  horse ;  and  it 
was  during  the  bustle  which  attended  their  doing 
so,  that  Cedric,  for  the  first  time,  cast  his  eyes  upon 
the  deserter  Gurth.  The  noble  Saxon  had  returned 
from  the  banquet,  as  we  have  seen,  in  no  very  placid 
humor,  and  wanted  but  a  pretext  for  wreaking  his 
anger  upon  some  one.  “The  gyves!”  he  said,  “the 
gyves ! — Oswald — Hundlbert!  Dogs  and  villains! — 
why  leave  ye  the  knave  unfettered?” 

Without  daring  to  remonstrate,  the  companions  of 
Gurth  bound  him  with  a  halter,  as  the  readiest  cord 
which  occurred.  He  submitted  to  the  operation 
without  remonstrance,  except  that,  darting  a  re- 


236 


IVANHOE 


proachful  look  at  his  master,  he  said,  “This  comes 
of  loving  your  flesh  and  blood  better  than  mine 
own.” 

“To  horse,  and  forward!”  said  Cedric. 

“It  is  indeed  full  time,”  said  the  noble  Athel- 
stane;  “for  if  we  ride  not  the  faster,  the  worthy 
Abbot  WaltheofFs  preparations  for  a  rere-supper 
will  be  altogether  spoiled.” 

The  travelers,  however,  used  such  speed  as  to 
reach  the  convent  of  St.  Withhold’s  before  the  ap¬ 
prehended  evil  took  place.  The  Abbot,  himself  of 
ancient  Saxon  descent,  received  the  noble  Saxons 
with  the  profuse  and  exuberant  hospitality  of  their 
nation,  wherein  they  indulged  to  a  late,  or  rather 
an  early,  hour;  nor  did  they  take  leave  of  their 
reverend  host  the  next  morning  until  they  had 
shared  with  him  a  sumptuous  refection. 

As  the  cavalcade  left  the  court  of  the  monastery, 
an  incident  happened  somewhat  alarming  to  the 
Saxons,  who,  of  all  people  of  Europe,  were  most 
addicted  to  a  superstitious  observance  of  omens, 
and  to  whose  opinions  can  be  traced  most  of  those 
notions  upon  such  subjects  still  to  be  found  among 
our  popular  antiquities.  For  the  Normans  being  a 
mixed  race,  and  better  informed  according  to  the 
information  of  the  times,  had  lost  most  of  the 
superstitious  prejudices  which  their  ancestors  had 
brought  from  Scandinavia,  and  piqued  themselves 
upon  thinking  freely  on  such  topics. 

In  the  present  instance,  the  apprehension  of  im¬ 
pending  evil  was  inspired  by  no  less  respectable  a 
prophet  than  a  large  lean  black  dog,  which,  sitting 
upright,  howled  most  piteously  as  the  foremost 
riders  left  the  gate,  and  presently  afterwards,  bark- 


Ivan  hoe 


237 


ling  wildly,  and  jumping  to  and  fro,  seemed  bent 
|  upon  attaching  itself  to  the  party. 

“I  like  not  that  music,  father  Cedric,’”  said 
Athelstane;  for  by  this  title  of  respect  he  was  ac- 
i  customed  to  address  him. 

“Nor  I  either,  uncle,”  said  Wamba;  “I  greatly 
|  fear  we  shall  have  to  pay  the  piper.” 

“In  my  mind,”  said  Athelstane,  upon  whose  mem¬ 
ory  the  Abbot’s  good  ale  (for  Burton  was  already 
famous  for  that  genial  liquor)  had  made  a  favor¬ 
able  impression, — “in  my  mind  we  had  better  turn 
back,  and  abide  with  the  Abbot  until  the  afternoon, 
j  It  is  unlucky  to  travel  where  your  path  is  crossed 
by  a  monk,  a  hare,  or  a  howling  dog,  until  you  have 
eaten  your  next  meal.” 

,  “Away!”  said  Cedric,  impatiently;  “the  day  is 
already  too  short  for  our  journey.  For  the  dog,  I 
know  it  to  be  the  cur  of  the  runaway  slave  Gurth, 
i  a  useless  fugitive  like  its  master.” 

So  saying,  and  rising  at  the  same  time  in  his  stir- 
i  rups,  impatient  at  the  interruption  of  his  journey, 

|  he  launched  his  javelin  at  poor  Fangs — for  Fangs 
it  was,  who,  having  traced  his  master  thus  far  upon 
;  his  stolen  expedition,  had  here  lost  him,  and  was 
now,  in  his  uncouth  way,  rejoicing  at  his  reappear- 
;  ance.  The  javelin  inflicted  a  wound  upon  the 
animal’s  shoulder,  and  narrowly  missed  pinning  him 
to  the  earth;  and  Fangs  fled  howling  from  the 
presence  of  the  enraged  thane.  Gurth’s  heart 
swelled  within  him;  for  he  felt  this  meditated 
slaughter  of  his  faithful  adherent  in  a  degree 
much  deeper  than  the  harsh  treatment  he  had  him- 
j  self  received.  Having  in  vain  attempted  to  raise 
j  his  hand  to  his  eyes,  he  said  to  Wamba,  who,  see- 
i  ing  his  master’s  ill-humor,  had  prudently  retreated 
!  to  the  rear,  “I  pray  thee,  do  me  the  kindness  to 


238 


IVANHOE 


wipe  my  eyes  with  the  skirt  of  thy  mantle;  the 
dust  offends  me,  and  these  bonds  will  not  let  me 
help  myself  one  way  or  another.” 

Wamba  did  him  the  service  he  required,  and 
they  rode  side  by  side  for  some  time,  during  which 
Gurth  maintained  a  moody  silence.  At  length  he 
could  repress  his  feelings  no  longer. 

“Friend  Wamba,”  said  he,  “of  all  those  who  are 
fools  enough  to  serve  Cedric,  thou  alone  hast 
dexerity  enough  to  make  thy  folly  acceptable  to 
him.  Go  to  him,  therefore,  and  tell  him  that  neith¬ 
er  for  love  nor  fear  will  Gurth  serve  him  longer. 
He  may  strike  the  head  from  me — he  may  scourge 
me — he  may  load  me  with  irons — but  henceforth 
he  shall  never  compel  me  either  to  love  or  to  obey 
him.  Go  to  him,  then,  and  tell  him  that  Gurth  the 
son  of  Beowulph  renounces  his  service.” 

“Assuredly,”  said  Wamba,  “fool  as  I  am,  I  shall 
not  do  your  fool’s  errand.  Cedric  hath  another 
javelin  stuck  into  his  girdle,  and  thou  knowest  he 
does  not  always  miss  his  mark.” 

“I  care  not,”  replied  Gurth,  “how  soon  he  makes 
a  mark  of  me.  Yesterday  he  left  Wilfred,  my 
young  master,  in  his  blood.  To-day  he  has  striven 
to  kill  before  my  face  the  only  other  living  creat¬ 
ure  that  ever  showed  me  kindness.  By  Saint  Ed¬ 
mund  Saint  Dustan,  Saint  Withold,  Saint  Edward 
the  Confessor,  and  every  other  Saxon  saint  in  the 
calendar”  (for  Cedric  never  swore  by  any  that  was 
not  of  Saxon  lineage,  and  all  his  household  had 
the  same  limited  devotion),  “I  will  never  forgive  I 
him!”  i 

“To  my  thinking,  now,”  said  the  Jester,  who 
was  frequently  wont  to  act  as  peace-maker  in  the 

Question:  What  reasons  did  Gurth  have  for  being  an- 
gry  at  Cedric? 


IVANHOE 


239 


lamily,  “our  master  did  not  propose  to  hurt  Fangs, 
>ut  only  to  affright  him.  For,  if  you  observe,  he 
ose  in  his  stirrups,  as  thereby  meaning  to  overcast 
he  mark;  and  so  he  would  have  done,  but  Fangs 
lappening  to  bound  up  at  the  very  moment,  re- 
eived  a  scratch,  which  I  will  be  bound  to  heal  with 
i  penny’s  breadth  of  tar.” 

“If  I  thought  so,”  said  Gurth — “if  I  could  but 
hink  so — but  no — I  saw  the  javelin  was  well  aimed 
—I  heard  it  whizz  through  the  air  with  all  the 
vrathful  malevolence  of  him  who  cast  it,  and  it 
quivered  after  it  had  pitched  in  the  ground,  as  if 
vith  regret  for  having  missed  its  mark.  By  the  hog 
lear  to  St.  Anthony,  I  renounce  him!” 

And  the  indignant  swineherd  resumed  his  sullen 

Iulence,  which  no  efforts  of  the  Jester  could  again 
nduce  him  to  break. 

Meanwhile  Cedric  and  Athelstane,  the  leaders  of 
he  troop  conversed  together  on  the  state  of  the 
and,  on  the  dissensions  of  the  royal  family,  on  the 
euds  and  quarrels  among  the  Norman  nobles,  and 
n  the  chance  which  there  was  that  the  oppressed 
Saxons  might  be  able  to  free  themselves  from  the 
oke  of  the  Normans,  or  at  least  to  elevate  them¬ 
selves  into  national  consequence  and  independence, 
during  the  civil  convulsions  which  were  likely  to 
ensue.  On  this  subject  Cedric  was  all  animation. 
iThe  restoration  of  the  independence  of  his  race 
was  the  idol  of  his  heart,  to  which  he  had  willingly 
sacrificed  domestic  happiness,  and  the  interests  of 
his  own  son.  But,  in  order  to  achieve  this  great 
revolution  in  favor  of  the  native  English,  it  was 
necessary  that  they  should  be  united  among  them¬ 
selves,  and  act  under  an  acknowledged  head.  The 
necessity  of  choosing  their  chief  from  the  Saxon 
blood-royal  was  not  only  evident  in  itself,  but  had 


240 


Ivan  hoe 


been  made  a  solemn  condition  by  those  whom  Cedric 
had  intrusted  with  his  secret  plans  and  hopes. 
Athelstane  had  this  quality  at  least;  and  though 
he  had  few  mental  accomplishments  or  talents  to 
recommend  him  as  a  leader,  he  had  still  a  goodly 
person,  was  no  coward,  had  been  accustomed  to 
martial  exercises,  and  seemed  willing  to  defer  to 
the  advice  of  counselors  more  wise  than  himself. 
Above  all,  he  was  known  to  be  liberal  and  hospit¬ 
able,  and  believed  to  be  good-natured.  But  what¬ 
ever  pretensions  Athelstane  had  to  be  considered 
as  head  of  the  Saxon  confederacy,  many  of  that 
nation  were  disposed  to  prefer  to  his  the  title  of 
the  Lady  Rowena,  who  drew  her  descent  from  Al¬ 
fred,  and  whose  father  having  been  a  chief  re¬ 
nowned  for  wisdom,  courage,  and  generosity,  his 
memory  was  highly  honored  by  his  oppressed 
countrymen. 

It  would  have  been  no  difficult  thing  for  Cedric, 
had  he  been  so  disposed,  to  have  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  a  third  party,  as  formidable  at  least  as 
any  of  the  others.  To  counterbalance  their  royal 
descent,  he  had  courage,  activity,  energy,  and,  above 
all,  that  devoted  attachment  to  the  cause  which  had 
procured  him  the  epithet  of  The  Saxon,  and  his 
birth  was  inferior  to  none,  excepting  only  that  of 
Athelstane  and  his  ward.  These  qualities,  however, 
were  unalloyed  by  the  slightest  shade  of  selfish¬ 
ness;  and,  instead  of  dividing  yet  farther  his  weak¬ 
ened  nation  by  forming  a  faction  of  his  own,  it  was 
a  leading  part  of  Cedric’s  plan  to  extinguish  that 
which  already  existed,  by  promoting  a  marriage 
betwixt  Rowena  and  Athelstane.  An  obstacle  oc¬ 
curred  to  this  his  favorite  project,  in  the  mutual 
attachment  of  his  ward  and  his  son;  and  hence  the 


IVANHOE 


241 


-riginal  cause  of  the  banishment  of  Wilfred  from 
he  house  of  his  father. 

I  This  stern  measure  Cedric  had  adopted,  in  hopes 
hat,  during  Wilfred’s  absence,  Rowena  might  re- 
inquish  her  preference,  but  in  this  hope  he  was 
disappointed;  a  disappointment  which  might  be 
attributed  in  part  to  the  mode  in  which  his  ward 
Lad  been  educated.  Cedric,  to  whom  the  name  of 
Alfred  was  as  that  of  a  deity,  had  treated  the  sole 
emaining  scion  of  that  great  monarch  with  a  de- 
free  of  observance,  such  as,  perhaps,  was  in  those 
lays  scarce  paid  to  an  acknowledged  princess, 
jtowena’s  will  had  been  in  almost  all  cases  a  law 
jo  his  household;  and  Cedric  himself,  as  if  deter- 
nined  that  her  sovereignty  should  be  fully  ac¬ 
knowledged  within  that  little  circle  at  least,  seemed 
;o  take  a  pride  in  acting  as  the  first  of  her  sub- 
ects.  Thus  trained  in  the  exercise  not  only  of  free 
vill,  but  despotic  authority,  Rowena  was,  by  her 
previous  education,  disposed  both  to  resist  and  to 
resent  any  attempt  to  control  her  affections,  or 
jlispose  of  her  hand  contrary  to  her  inclinations, 
and  to  assert  her  independence  in  a  case  in  which 
even  those  females  who  have  been  trained  up  to 
abedience  and  subjection,  are  not  infrequently  apt 
to  dispute  the  authority  of  guardians  and  parents. 
The  opinions  which  she  felt  strongly,  she  avowed 
boldly;  and  Cedric,  who  could  not  free  himself  from 
his  habitual  deference  to  her  opinions,  felt  totally 
‘at  a  loss  how  to  enforce  his  authority  of  guard¬ 
ian. 

(  It  was  in  vain  that  he  attempted  to  dazzle  her 
jwith  the  prospect  of  a  visionary  throne.  Rowena, 
iwho  possessed  strong  sense,  neither  considered  his 


Question  :  What  plans  did  Cedric  have  for  the  Saxons? 


242 


IVANHOE 


plan  as  practicable,  nor  as  desirable,  so  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  could  it  have  been  achieved.  With¬ 
out  attempting  to  conceal  her  avowed  preference  of 
Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe,  she  declared  that,  were  that 
favored  knight  out  of  question,  she  would  rather 
take  refuge  in  a  convent,  than  share  a  throne  with 
Athelstane,  whom,  having  always  despised,  she  now 
began,  on  account  of  the  trouble  she  received  on 
his  account,  thoroughly  to  detest. 

Nevertheless,  Cedric,  whose  opinion  of  women’s 
constancy  was  far  from  strong,  persisted  in  using 
every  means  in  his  power  to  bring  about  the  pro¬ 
posed  match,  in  which  he  conceived  he  was  ren¬ 
dering  an  important  service  to  the  Saxon  cause.  The 
sudden  and  romantic  appearance  of  his  son  in  the 
lists  at  Ashby,  he  had  justly  regarded  as  almost 
a  death’s  blow  to  his  hopes.  His  paternal  affec¬ 
tion,  it  is  true,  had  for  an  instant  gained  the  victory 
over  pride  and  patriotism;  but  both  had  returned 
in  full  force,  and  under  their  joint  operation,  he 
was  now  bent  upon  making  a  determined  effort  foi 
the  union  of  Athelstane  and  Rowena,  together  with 
expediting  those  other  measures  which  seemed 
necessary  to  forward  the  restoration  of  Saxon  in¬ 
dependence. 

On  this  last  subject,  he  was  now  laboring  with 
Athelstane,  not  without  having  reason,  every  now 
and  then,  to  lament,  like  Hostspur,1  that  he  should 
have  moved  such  a  dish  of  skimmed  milk  to  so  hon¬ 
orable  an  action.  Athelstane,  it  is  true,  was  vain 
enough,  and  loved  to  have  his  ears  tickled  with 
tales  of  his  high  descent,  and  of  his  right  by  in¬ 
heritance  to  homage  and  sovereignty.  But  his  petty 
vanity  was  sufficiently  gratified  by  receiving  this 
homage  at  the  hands  of  his  immediate  attendants 


"King  Henry  IV,  Part  I,  II  3.  36. 


IVANHOE 


243 


and  of  the  Saxons  who  approached  him.  If  he  had 
the  courage  to  encounter  danger,  he  at  least  hated 
the  trouble  of  going  to  seek  it;  and  while  he  agreed 
in  the  general  principles  laid  down  by  Cedric  con¬ 
cerning  the  claim  of  the  Saxons  to  independence, 
sand  was  still  more  easily  convinced  of  his  own 
'title  to  reign  over  them  when  that  independence 
should  be  attained,  yet  when  the  means  of  assert¬ 
ing  these  rights  came  to  be  discussed,  he  was  still 
[“Athelstane  the  Unready,”  slow,  irresolute,  pro¬ 
crastinating,  and  unenterprising.  The  warm  and 
impassioned  exhortations  of  Cedric  had  as  little 
effect  upon  his  impassive  temper,  as  red-hot  balls 
i  alighting  in  the  water,  which  produce  a  little 
j  sound  and  smoke,  and  are  instantly  extinguished. 

;  If,  leaving  this  task,  which  might  be  compared 
to  spurring  a  tired  jade,  or  to  hammering  upon  cold 
Iron,  Cedric  fell  back  to  his  ward  Rowena,  he  re¬ 
ceived  little  more  satisfaction  from  conferring  with 
1  her.  For,  as  his  presence  interrupted  the  discourse 
1  between  the  lady  and  her  favorite  attendant  upon 
the  gallantry  and  fate  of  Wilfred,  Elgitha  failed 
I  not  to  revenge  both  her  mistress  and  herself  by 
recurring  to  the  overthrow  of  Athelstane  in  the 
lists,  the  most  disagreeable  subject  which  could 
greet  the  ears  of  Cedric.  To  this  sturdy  Saxon, 
therefore,  the  day’s  journey  was  fraught  with  all 
manner  of  displeasure  and  discomfort ;  so  that  he 
more  than  once  internally  cursed  the  tournament, 
and  him  who  had  proclaimed  it,  together  with  his 
own  folly  in  ever  thinking  of  going  thfther. 

At  noon,  upon  the  motion  of  Athelstane,  the  trav¬ 
elers  paused  in  a  woodland  shade  by  a  fountain,  to 
repose  their  horses  and  partake  of  some  provisions, 
with  which  the  hospitable  Abbot  had  loaded  a 
sumpter  mule.  Their  repast  was  a  pretty  long  one  ; 


244 


IVANHOE 


and  these  severai  interruptions  rendered  it  im¬ 
possible  for  them  to  hope  to  reach  Rotherwood 
without  traveling  all  night,  a  conviction  which  in¬ 
duced  them  to  proceed  on  their  way.  at  a  more 
hasty  pace  than  they  had  hitherto  used. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


A  train  of  armed  men,  some  noble  dame 
Escorting  (so  their  scatter'd  words  discover'd, 

As  unperceived  I  hung  upon  their  rear), 

Are  close  at  hand,  and  mean  to  pass  the  night 
Within  the  castle. 

Orra ,  a  Tragedy. 

The  travelers  had  now  reached  the  verge  of  the 
wooded  country,  and  were  about  to  plunge  into  its 
recesses,  held  dangerous  at  that  time  from  the  num¬ 
ber  of  outlaws  whom  oppression  and  poverty  had 
driven  to  despair,  and  who  occupied  the  forests  in 
such  large  bands  as  could  easily  bid  defiance  to 
the  feeble  police  of  the  period.  From  these  rovers, 
however,  notwithstanding  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
Cedric  and  Athelstane  accounted  themselves  se¬ 
cure,  as  they  had  in  attendance  ten  servants,  be¬ 
sides  Wamba  and  Ghirth,  whose  aid  could  not  be 
counted  upon,  the  one  being  a  jester  and  the  other 
a  captive.  It  may  be  added,  that  in  traveling  thus 
late  through  the  forest,  Cedric  and  Athelstane  re¬ 
lied  on  their  descent  and  character,  as  well  as  their 
courage.  The  outlaws,  whom  the  severity  of  the 
forest  laws  had  reduced  to  this  roving  and  desper¬ 
ate  mode  of  life,  were  chiefly  peasants  and  yeomen 
of  Saxon  descent,  and  were  generally  supposed  to 
respect  the  persons  and  property  of  their  country¬ 
men. 

As  the  travelers  journeyed  on  their  way,  they  were 
alarmed  by  repeated  cries  for  assistance;  and  when 
they  rode  up  to  the  place  from  whence  they  came, 
they  were  surprised  to  find  a  horse-litter  placed 
upon  the  ground,  beside  which  sat  a  young  woman, 
richly  dressed  in  the  Jewish  fashion,  while  an  old 
man,  whose  yellow  cap  proclaimed  him  to  belong  to 


246 


IVANHOE 


the  same  nation,  walked  up  and  down  with  ges¬ 
tures  expressive  of  the  deepest  despair,  and  wrung 
his  hands,  as  if  affected  by  some  strange  disaster. 

To  the  inquiries  of  Athelstane  and  Cedric,  the 
old  Jew  could  for  some  time  only  answer  by  in¬ 
voking  the  protection  of  all  the  patriarchs  of  the 
Old  Testament  successively  against,  the  sons  of 
Ishmael,  who  were  coming  to  smite  them,  hip  and 
thigh,  with  the  edge  of  the  sword.  When  he  began 
to  come  to  himself  out  of  this  agony  of  terror, 
Isaac  of  York  (for  it  was  our  old  friend)  was  at 
length  able  to  explain  that  he  had  hired  a  body¬ 
guard  of  six  men  at  Ashby,  together  with  mules  for 
carrying  the  litter  of  a  sick  friend.  This  party 
had  undertaken  to  escort  him  as  far  as  Doncaster. 
They  had  come  thus  far  in  safety;  but  having  re¬ 
ceived  information  from  a  woodcutter  that  there 
was  a  strong  band  of  outlaws  lying  in  wait  in  the 
woods  before  them,  Isaac’s  mercenaries  had  not 
only  taken  flight,  but  had  carried  off  with  them  the 
horses  which  bore  the  litter,  and  left  the  Jew  and 
his  daughter  without  the  means  either  of  defense 
or  of  retreat,  to  be  plundered,  and  probably  mur¬ 
dered,  by  the  banditti,  who  they  expected  every 
moment  would  bring  down  upon  them.  “Would  it 
but  please  your  valors,”  added  Isaac,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  humiliation,  “to  permit  the  poor  Jews  to  travel 
under  your  safeguard,  I  swear  by  the  tables  of  our 
law  that  never  has  favor  been  conferred  upon  a 
child  of  Israel  since  the  days  of  our  captivity, 
which  shall  be  more  gratefully  acknowledged.” 

“Dog  of  a  Jew!”  said  Athelstane,  whose  mem¬ 
ory  was  of  that  petty  kind  that  stores  up_  trifles  of 
all  kinds,  but  particularly  trifling  offenses,  “dost 
not  remember  how  thou  didst  beard  us  in  the  gal¬ 
lery  at  the  tilt-yard?  Fight  or  flee,  or  compound 


IVANHOE 


247 


with  the  outlaws  as  thou  does  list,  ask  neither  aid 
nor  company  from  us;  and  if  they  rob  only  such 
as  thee,  who  rob  all  the  world,  I,  for  mine  own  share, 
shall  hold  them  right  honest  folk.” 

Cedric  did  not  assent  to  the  severe  proposal  of 
his  companion.  “We  shall  do  better,”  said  he,  “to 
leave  them  two  of  our  attendants  and  two  horses 
to  convey  them  back  to  the  next  village.  It  will 
diminish  our  strength  but  little;  and  with  your 
good  sword,  noble  Athelstane,  and  the  aid  of  those 
who  remain,  it  will  be  light  work)  for  us  to  face 
twenty  of  those  runagates.” 

Rowena,  somewhat  alarmed  by  the  mention  of  out¬ 
laws  in  force,  and  so  near  them,  strongly  seconded 
the  proposal  of  her  guardian.  But  Rebecca,  sud¬ 
denly  quitting  her  dejected  posture,  and  making  her 
way  through  the  attendants  to  the  palfrey  of  the 
Saxon  lady,  knelt  down,  and,  after  the  Oriental 
fashion  in  addressing  superiors,  kissed  the  hem  of 
Rowena’s  garment.  Then  rising,  and  throwing 
back  her  veil,  she  implored  her  in  the  great  name 
of  the  God  whom  they  both  worshiped,  and  by  that 
revelation  of  the  Law1  upon  Mount  Sinai,  in  which 
they  both  believed,  that  she  would  have  compas¬ 
sion  upon  them,  and  suffer  them  to  go  forward 
under  their  safeguard.  “It  is  not  for  myself  that 
I  pray  this  favor,”  said  Rebecca,  “nor  is  it  even 
for  that  poor  old  man.  I  know  that  to  wrong  and 
to  spoil  our  nation  is  a  light  fault,  if  not  a  merit, 
with  the  Christians;  and  what  is  it  to  us  whether 
it  be  done  in  the  city,  in  the  desert,  or  in  the  field? 
But  it  is  in  the  name  of  one  dear  to  many,  and 
dear  even  to  you,  that  I  beseech  you  to  let  this  sick 
person  be  transported  with  care  and  tenderness 
under  your  protection.  For,  if  evil  chance  him,  the 


Exodus  XX. 


248 


IVANHOE 


last  moment  of  your  life  would  be  embittered  with 
regret  for  denying  that  which  I  ask  of  you.” 

The  noble  and  solemn  air  with  which  Rebecca 
made  this  appeal,  gave  it  double  weight  with  the 
fair  Saxon. 

“The  man  is  old,  and  feeble,”  she  said  to  her 
guardian,  “the  maiden  young  and  beautiful,  their 
friend  sick  and  in  peril  of  his  life — Jews  though 
they  be,  we  cannot  as  Christians  leave  them  in  this 
extremity.  Let  them  unload  two  of  the  sumpter- 
mules,  and  put  the  baggage  behind  two  of  the 
serfs.  The  mules  may  transport  the  litter,  and  we 
have  led  horses  for  the  old  man  and  his  daughter.” 

Cedric  readily  assented  to  what  she  proposed, 
and  Athelstane  only  added  the  condition,  “that  they 
should  travel  in  the  rear  of  the  whole  party,  where 
Wamba,”  he  said,  “might  attend  them  with  his 
shield  of  boar’s  brawn.” 

“I  have  left  my  shield  in  the  tilt-yard,”  answered 
the  Jester,  “as  has  been  the  fate  of  many  a  better 
knight  than  myself.” 

Athelstane  colored  deeply,  for  such  had  been  his 
own  fate  on  the  last  day  of  the  tournament;  while 
Rowena,  who  was  pleased  in  the  same  proportion, 
as  if  to  make  amends  for  the  brutal  jest  of  her 
unfeeling  suitor,  requested  Rebecca  to  ride  by  her 
side. 

“It  were  not  fit  I  should  do  so,”  answered 
Rebecca,  with  proud  humility,  “where  my  society 
might  be  held  a  disgrace  to  my  protectress.” 

By  this  time  the  change  of  baggage  was  hastily 
achieved;  for  the  single  word  “outlaws”  rendered 
every  one  sufficiently  alert,  and  the  approach  of 
twilight  made  the  sound  yet  more  impressive.  Amid 


Question:  Who  is  the  friend  in  the  litter? 


IVANHOE 


249 


the  bustle,  Gurth  was  taken  from  horseback,  in  the 
;  course  of  which  removal  he  prevailed  upon  the 
:  Jester  to  slack  the  cord  with  which  his  arms  were 
bound.  It  was  so  negligently  refastened,  perhaps 
intentionally,  on  the  part  of  Wamba,  that  Gurth 
found  no  difficulty  in  freeing  his  arms  altogether 
|  from  bondage,  and  then,  gliding  into  the  thicket, 
he  made  his  escape  from  the  party. 

The  bustle  had  been  considerable,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  Gurth  was  missed;  for,  as  he  was 
to  be  placed  for  the  rest  of  the  journey  behind  a 
servant,  every  one  supposed  that  some  other  of  His 
companions  had  him  under  his  custody,  and  when 
it  began  to  be  whispered  among  them  that  Gurth 
had  actually  disappeared,  they  were  under  such 
immediate  expectation  of  an  attack  from  the  out¬ 
laws,  that  it  was  not  held  convenient  to  pay  much 
attention  to  the  circumstance. 

The  path  upon  which  the  party  traveled  was  now 
so  narrow  as  not  to  admit,  with  any  sort  of  conven¬ 
ience,  above  two  riders  abreast,  and  began  to  de¬ 
scend  into  a  dingle,  traversed  by  a  brook  whose 
banks  were  broken,  swampy,  and  overgrown  with 
dwarf  willows.  Cedric  and  Athlestane,  who  were 
at  the  head  of  their  retinue,  saw  the  risk  of  being 
attacked  at  this  pass;  but  neither  of  them  having 
had  much  practice  in  war,  no  better  mode  of  pre¬ 
venting  the  danger  occurred  to  them  than  that  they 
should  hasten  through  the  defile  as  fast  as  pos¬ 
sible.  Advancing,  therefore,  without  much  order, 
they  had  just  crossed  the  brook  with  a  part  of  their 
followers,  when  they  were  assailed  in  front,  flank, 
and  rear  at  once,  with  an  impetuosity  to  which,  in 
their  confused  and  ill-prepared  condition,  it  was 
impossible  to  offer  effectual  resistance.  The  shout 
of  “A  white  dragon! — a  white  dragon! — Saint 


250 


Ivan  hoe 


George  for  merry  England!”  war-cries  adopted  by 
the  assailants,  as  belonging  to  their  assumed  char¬ 
acter  of  Saxon  outlaws,  was  heard  on  every  side, 
and  on  every  side  enemies  appeared  with  a  rapidity 
of  advance  and  attack  which  seemed  to  multiply 
their  numbers. 

Both  the  Saxon  chiefs  were  made  prisoners  at 
the  same  moment,  and  each  under  circumstances 
expressive  of  his  character.  Cedric,  the  instant 
that  an  enemy  appeared,  launched  at  him  his  re¬ 
maining  javelin,  which,  taking  better  effect  than 
that  which  he  had  hurled  at  Fangs,  nailed  the  man 
against  an  oak-tree  that  happened  to  be  close  be¬ 
hind  him.  Thus  far  successful,  Cedric  spurred  his 
horse  against  a  second,  drawing  his  sword  at  the 
same  time,  and  striking  with  such  inconsiderate 
fury,  that  his  weapon  encountered  a  thick  branch 
which  hung  over  him,  and  he  was  disarmed  by  the 
violence  of  his  own  blow.  He  was  instantly  made 
prisoner,  and  pulled  from  his  horse  by  two  or  three 
of  the  banditti  who  crowded  around  him.  Athel- 
stance  shared  his  captivity,  his  bridle  having  been 
seized,  and  he  himself  forcibly  dismounted,  long 
before  he  could  draw  his  weapon,  or  assume  any 
posture  of  effectual  defense. 

The  attendants,  embarrassed  with  baggage,  sur¬ 
prised  and  terrified  at  the  fate  of  their  masters, 
fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  assailants;  while  the  Lady 
Rowena,  in  the  center  of  the  cavalcade,  and  the  Jew 
and  his  daughter  in  the  rear,  experienced  the  same 
misfortune. 

Of  all  the  train  none  escaped  except  Wamba,  who 
showed  upon  the  occasion  much  more  courage  than 
those  who  pretended  to  greater  sense.  He  possessed 
himself  of  a  sword  belonging  to  one  of  the  domes¬ 
tics,  who  was  just  drawing  it  with  a  tardy  and 


IVANHOE 


251 


irresolute  hand,  laid  it  about  him  like  a  lion,  drove 
back  several  who  approached  him,  and  made  a 
prave  though  ineffectual  attempt  to  succor  his  mas¬ 
ter.  Finding  himself  overpowered,  the  Jester  at 
length  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  plunged  into 
the  thicket,  and  favored  by  the  general  confusion, 
escaped  from  the  scene  of  action. 

Yet  the  valiant  Jester,  as  soon  as  he  found  him¬ 
self  safe,  hesitated  more  than  once  whether  he 
Should  not  turn  back  and  share  the  captivity  of  a 
master  to  whom  he  was  sincerely  attached. 

“I  have  heard  men  talk  of  the  blessings  of  free¬ 
dom, M  he  said  to  himself,  “but  I  wish  any  wise  man 
would  teach  me  what  use  to  make  of  it  now  that 
I  have  it.” 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  aloud,  a  voice  very 
near  him  called  out  in  a  low  and  cautious  tone, 
“Wamba!”  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  dog,  which  he 
recognized  to  be  Fangs,  jumped  up  and  fawned 
upon  him.  “Gurth!”  answered  Wamba,  with  the 
same  caution,  and  the  swineherd  immediately  stood 
before  him. 

“What  is  the  matter?”  said  he  eagerly;  “what 
mean  these  cries,  and  that  clashing  of  swords?” 

“Only  a  trick  of  the  times,”  said  Wamba;  “they 

are  all  prisoners.”  . 

“Who  are  prisoners?”  exclaimed  Gurth,  impatiently. 

“My  lord,  and  my  lady,  and  Athelstane,  and  Hundi- 
bert,  and  Oswald.” 

“In  the  name  of  God!”  said  Gurth,  “how  came  they 
prisoners?— and  to  whom?” 

“Our  master  was  too  ready  to  fight,”  said  the 
Jester;  “and  Athelstane  was  not  ready  enough,  and 
no  other  person  was  ready  at  all.  And  they  are 

Question:  What  is  the  value  of  the  escape  of  Gurth 

and  Wamba? 


252 


IVANHOE 


prisoners  to  green  cassocks,  and  black  visors.  And 
they  lie  all  tumbled  about  on  the  green,  like  the 
crabapples,  that  you  shake  down  to  your  swine. 
And  I  would  laugh  at  it,”  said  the  honest  Jester, 
“if  I  could  for  weeping.”  And  he  shed  tears  of 
unfeigned  sorrow. 

Gurth’s  countenance  kindled — “Wamba,”  he  said, 
“thou  hast  a  weapon,  and  thy  heart  was  ever 
stronger  than  thy  brain, — we  are  only  two — but  a 
sudden  attack  from  men  of  resolution  will  do  much 
— follow  me!” 

“Whither? — and  for  what  purpose?”  said  the 
Jester. 

“To  rescue  Cedric.” 

“But  you  have  renounced  his  service  but  now,” 
said  Wamba. 

“That,”  said  Gurth,  “was  but  while  he  was  for^ 
tunate — follow  me!” 

As  the  Jester  was  about  to  obey,  a  third  person 
suddenly  made  his  appearance,  and  commanded  them 
both  to  halt.  From  his  dress  and  arms,  Wamba 
would  have  conjectured  him  to  be  one  of  those 
outlaws  who  had  just  assailed  his  master;  but,  be¬ 
sides  that  he  wore  no  mask,  the  glittering  baldric 
across  his  shoulder,  with  a  rich  bugle-horn  which 
it  supported,  as  well  as  the  calm  and  commanding 
expression  of  his  voice  and  manner,  made  him,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  twilight,  recognize  Locksley  the 
yeoman,  who  had  been  victorious,  under  such  dis¬ 
advantageous  circumstances,  in  the  contest  for  the 
prize  of  archery.  v> 

“What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,”  said  he,  “or 
who  is  it  that  rifle,  and  ransom,  and  make  prisoners 
in  these  forests?” 

“You  may  look  at  their  cassocks  close  by,”  said 
Wamba,  “and  see  whether  they  be  thy  children’s 


IVANHOE 


253 


coats  or  no — for  they  are  as  like  thine  own,  as  one 
green  pea-cod  is  to  another.” 

“I  'will  learn  that  presently,”  answered  Locksley; 
“and  I  charge  ye,  on  peril  of  your  lives,  not  to  stir 
from  the  place  where  ye  stand  until  I  have  re¬ 
turned.  Obey  me,  and  it  shall  be  the  better  for 
you  and  your  masters.  Yet,  stay,  I  must  render 
myself  as  like  these  men  as  possible.” 

So  saying,  he  unbuckled  his  baldric  with  the 
jbugle,  took  a  feather  from  his  cap,  and  gave  them 
to  Wamba ;  then  drew  a  vizard  from  his  pouch,  and 
repeating  his  charges  to  them  to  stand  fast,  went 
to  execute  his  purposes  of  reconnoitering. 

“Shall  we  stand  fast,  Gurth?”  said  Wamba;  “or 
shall  we  e’en  give  him  leg-bail? — In  my  foolish 
mind,  he  had  all  the  equipage  of  a  thief  too  much 
in  readiness,  to  be  himself  a  true  man. 

“Let  him  be  the  devil,”  said  Gurth,  “an  he  will. 
We  can  be  no  worse  of  waiting  his  return.  If  he 
belong  to  that  party  he  must  already  have  given 
them  the  alarm,  and  it  will  avail  nothing  either  to 
fight  or  fly.  Besides,  I  have  late  experience,  that 
arrant  thieves  are  not  the  worst  men  in  the  world 
to  have  to  deal  with.” 

The  yoeman  returned  in  the  course  of  a  few 

minutes.  .  _ 

“Friend  Gurth,”  he  said,  “I  have  mingled  among 
yon  men,  and  have  learnt  to  whom  they  belong,  and 
whither  they  are  bound.  There  is,  I  think,  no 
chance  that  they  will  proceed  to  any  actual  violence 
i  against  their  prisoners.  For  three  men  to  attempt 
them  at  this  moment,  were  little  else  than  madness , 
■for  they  are  good  men  of  war,  and  have,  as  such, 
placed  sentinels  to  give  the  alarm  when  any  one 
approaches.  But  I  trust  soon  to  gather  such  a 
force,  as  may  act  in  defiance  of  all  their  precau- 


254 


IVANHOE 


tions;  you  are  both  servants,  and,  as  I  think,  faith¬ 
ful  servants,  of  Cedric  the  Saxon,  the  friend  of 
the  rights  of  Englishmen.  He  shall  not  want  Eng¬ 
lish  hands  to  help  him  in  this  extremity.  Come 
then  with  me,  until  I  gather  more  aid.” 

So  saying,  he  walked  through  the  wood  at  a 
great  pace,  followed  by  the  Jester  and  the  swine¬ 
herd.  It  was  not  consistent  with  Wamba’s  humor 
to  travel  long  in  silence. 

“I  think,”  said  he,  looking  at  the  baldric  and 
bugle  which  he  still  carried,  “that  I  saw  the  arrow 
shot  which  won  this  gay  prize,  and  that  not  so  long 
since  as  Christmas.” 

“And  I,”  said  Gurth,  “could  take  it  on  my  hali- 
dom,  that  I  have  heard  the  voice  of  the  good  yeo¬ 
man  who  won  it,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day,  and 
that  the  moon  is  not  three  days  older  since  I  did 
so.” 

“Mine  honest  friends,”  replied  the  yeoman, 
“who,  or  what  I  am,  is  little  to  the  present  purpose; 
should  I  free  your  master,  you  will  have  reason  to 
think  me  the  best  friend  you  have  ever  had  in  your 
lives.  And  whether  I  am  known  by  one  name  or  an¬ 
other — or  whether  I  can  draw  a  bow  as  well  or 
better  than  a  cow-keeper,  or  whether  it  is  my  pleas¬ 
ure  to  walk  in  sunshine  or  by  moonlight,  are  mat¬ 
ters,  which,  as  they  do  not  concern  you,  so  neither 
need  ye  busy  yourselves  respecting  them.” 

“Our  heads  are  in  the  lion’s  mouth,”  said 
Wamba,  in  a  whisper  to  Gurth,  “get  them  out  how 
we  can.” 

Question  :  How  are  you  prepared  by  conversation  for 
the  appearance  of  the  outlaws? 

Question:  Who  is  this  outlaw? 

Question  :  Do  you  notice  any  points  in  common  with 
De  Bracy’s  plans? 


lVANHOE 


255 


“Hush— be  silent,”  said  Gurth.  “Offend  him 
not  by  thy  folly,  and  I  trust  sincerely  that  all 
will  go  well.” 


CHAPTER  XX 

When  autumn  nights  were  long  and  drear, 

And  forest  walks  were  dark  and  dim, 

How  sweet  on  the  pilgrim’s  ear 

Was  wont  to  steal  the  hermit’s  hymn ! 

Devotion  borrows  Music’s  tone, 

And  Music  took  Devotion’s  wing; 

And  like  the  bird  that  hails  the  sun, 

They  soar  to  heaven,  and  soaring  sing, 

The  Hermit  of  St.  Clement's  Well. 

It  was  after  three  hours’  good  walking  that  the 
servants  of  Cedric,  with  their  mysterious  guide, 
arrived  at  a  small  opening  in  the  forest,  in  the 
center  of  which  grew  an  oak-tree  of  enormous 
magnitude,  throwing  its  twisted  branches  in  every 
direction.  Beneath  this  tree  four  or  five  yeomen  lay 
stretched  on  the  ground,  while  another,  as  sentinel, 
walked  to  and  fro  in  the  moonlight  shade. 

Upon  hearing  the  sound  of  feet  approaching, 
the  watch  instantly  gave  the  alarm,  and  the  sleepers 
as  suddenly  started  up  and  bent  their  bows.  Six 
arrows  placed  on  the  string  were  pointed  towards 
the  quarter  from  which  the  travelers  approached, 
when  their  guide,  being  recognized,  was  welcomed 
with  every  token  of  respect  and  attachment,  and 
all  signs  and  fears  of  a  rough  reception  at  once 
subsided. 

‘Where  is  the  Miller?”  was  his  first  question. 

“On  the  road  towards  Rotherham.” 

“With  how  many?”  demanded  the  leader,  for 
such  he  seemed  to  be. 

“With  six  men  and  good  hope  of  booty,  if  it 
please  St.  Nicholas.” 


IVANHOE 


257 


“Devoutly  spoken,’’  said  Locksley;  “and  where  is 
Allan-a-Dale?” 

“Walked  up  towards  the  Watling-street,1  to 
watch  for  the  Prior  of  Jorvaulx.” 

“That  is  well  thought  on  also,”  replied  the  Cap¬ 
tain; — “and  where  is  the  Friar?” 

“In  his  cell.” 

“Thither  will  I  go,”  said  Locksley.  “Disperse 
and  seek  your  companions.  Collect  what  force  you 
can,  for  there’s  game  afoot  that  must  be  hunted 
hard,  and  will  turn  to  bay.  Meet  me  here  by  day¬ 
break. — And,  stay,”  he  added,  “I  have  forgotten 
what  is  most  necessary  of  the  whole — 'Two  of  you 
take  the  road  quickly  towards  Torquilstone,  the 
Castle  of  Front-de-Bceuf.  A  set  of  gallants,  who 
have  been  masquerading  in  such  guise  as  our  own, 
are  carrying  a  band  of  prisoners  thither — Watch 
them  closely,  for  even  if  they  reach  the  castle  be¬ 
fore  we  collect  our  force,  our  honor  is  concerned 
to  punish  them,  and  we  will  find  means  to  do  so. 
Keep  a  close  watch  on  them  therefore;  and  dis¬ 
patch  one  of  your  comrades,  the  lightest  of  foot,  to 
bring  the  news  of  the  yeomen  thereabout.” 

They  promised  implicit  obedience,  and  departed 
with  alacrity  on  their  different  errands.  In  the 
meanwhile,  their  leader  and  his  two  companions, 
who  now  looked  upon  him  with  great  respect,  as 
well  as  some  fear,  pursued  their  way  to  the  Chapel 
i  of  Copmanhurst. 

When  they  had  reached  the  little  moonlight 
glade,  having  in  front  the  reverend,  though  ruinous 
!  chapel,  and  the  rude  hermitage,  so  well  suited  to 
ascetic  devotion,  Wamba  whispered  to  Gurth,  If 
this  be  the  habitation  of  a  thief,  it  makes  good 

lAn  old  Roman  road  which  began  at  Dover  and  ran 
through  London  to  Chester  and  York. 


258 


Ivan  hoe 


the  old  proverb,  The  nearer  the  church  the  farther 
from  God. — And  by  my  cockscomb,”1  he  added,  “I 
think  it  be  even  so — Hearken  but  to  the  black 
sanctus2  which  they  are  singing  in  the  hermitage!” 

In  fact  the  anchorite  and  his  guest  were  per¬ 
forming,  at  the  full  extent  of  their  very  powerful 
lungs,  an  old  drinking  song,  of  which  this  was  the 
burden: 

“Come,  trowl  the  brown  bowl  to  me. 

Bully  boy,  bully  boy. 

Come,  trowl  the  brown  bowl  to  me ; 

Ho!  jolly  Jenkin,  I  spy  a  knave  in  drinking. 

Come,  trowl  the  brown  bowl  to  me.” 

“Now,  that  is  not  ill  sung,”  said  Wamba,  who 
had  thrown  in  a  few  of  his  own  flourishes  to  help 
out  the  chorus.  “But  who,  in  the  saint’s  name, 
ever  expected  to  have  heard  such  a  jolly  chant 
come  from  out  a  hermit’s  cell  at  midnight!” 

“Marry,  that  should  I,”  said  Gurth,  “for  the  jolly 
Clerk  of  Copmanhurst  is  a  known  man,  and  kills 
half  the  deer  that  are  stolen  in  this  walk.  Men 
say  that  the  keeper  has  complained  to  his  official, 
and  that  he  will  be  stripped  of  his  cowl  and  cope 
altogether,  if  he  keep  not  better  order.”  , 

While  they  were  thus  speaking,  Locksley’s  loud 
and  repeated  knocks  had  at  length  disturbed  they 
anchorite  and  his  guest.  “By  my  beads,”  said  the 
hermit,  stopping  short  in  a  grand  flourish,  “here 
come  more  benighted  guests.  I  would  not  for  my 
cowl  that  they  found  us  in  this  goodly  exercise. 
All  men  have  their  enemies,  good  Sir  Sluggard;  and 
there  be  those  malignant  enough  to  construe  the 


tool’s  cap. 

2Sanctus  is  a  hymn  of  mass  beginning,  “Sanctus,  Sanctus.” 
A  black  Sanctus  would  be  a  mock  hymn. 


IVANHOE 


259 


hospitable  refreshment  which  I  have  been  offering 
to  you,  a  weary  traveler,  for  the  matter  of  three 
short  hours,  into  sheer  drunkenness  and  debauch¬ 
ery,  vices  alike  alien  to  my  procession  and  my  dis¬ 
position/’ 

“Base  calumniators!”  replied  the  knight;  “I 
would  I  had  the  chastising  of  them.  Nevertheless, 
Holy  Clerk,  it~  is  true  that  all  have  their  enemies; 
and  there  be  those  in  this  very  land  whom  I  would 
rather  speak  to  through  the  bars  of  my  helmet  than 
barefaced.” 

“Get  thine  iron  pot  on  thy  head,  then,  friend 
Sluggard,  as  quickly  as  thy  nature  will  permit,” 
said  the  hermit,  “while  I  remove  these  pewter 
flagons,  whose  late  contents  run  strangely  in  mine 
own  pate ;  and  to  drown  the  clatter — for,  in  faith. 
I  feel  somewhat  unsteady — strike  into  the  tune 
which  thou  hearest  me  sing;  it  is  no  matter  for  the 
words — I  scarce  know  them  myself.” 

So  saying,  he  struck  up  a  thundering  De  pro- 
fundis  clamavi  under  cover  of  which  he  removed 
the  apparatus  of  their  banquet:  while  the  knight, 
laughing  heartily,  and  arming  himself  all  the  while, 
assisted  his  host  with  his  voice  from  time  to  time 
as  his  mirth  permitted. 

“What  devil’s  matins  are  you  after  at  this  hour?” 
said  a  voice  from  without. 

“Heaven  forgive  you,  Sir  Traveler!”  said  the 
hermit,  whose  own  noise,  and  perhaps  his  nocturnal 
potations,  prevented  from  recognizing  accents  which 
were  tolerably  familiar  to  him — “Wend  on  your 
way,  in  the  name  of  God  and  Saint  Dunstan,  and 
disturb  not  the  devotions  of  me  and  my  holy  brother.” 

“Mad  priest,”  answered  the  voice  from  without, 
“open  to  Locksley!” 


260 


IVANHOE 


“All’s  safe — all’s  right,”  said  the  hermit  to  his 
companion. 

“But  who  is  he?”  said  the  Black  Knight;  “It 
imports  me  much  to  know.” 

“Who  is  he?”  answered  the  hermit;  “I  tell  thee 
he  is  a  friend.” 

“But  what  friend?”  answered  the  knight;  “for 
he  may  be  friend  to  thee  and  none  of  mine.” 

“What  friend?”  replied  the  hermit;  “that  now, 
is  one  of  the  questions  that  is  more  easily  askled 
than  answered.  What  friend? — why,  he  is,  now 
that  I  bethink  me  a  little,  the  very  same  honest 
keeper  I  told  thee  of  a  while  since.” 

“Ay,  as  honest  a  keeper  as  thou  art  a  pious  her¬ 
mit,”  replied  the  knight,  “I  doubt  it  not.  But  undo 
the  door  to  him  before  he  beat  it  from  its  hinges.” 

The  dogs,  in  the  meantime,  which  had  made  a 
dreadful  baying  at  the  commencement  of  the  dis¬ 
turbance,  seemed  now  to  recognize  the  voice  of  him 
who  stood  without;  for,  totally  changing  their  man¬ 
ner,  they  scratched  and  whined  at  the  door,  as  if 
interceding  for  his  admission.  The  hermit  speedily 
unbolted  his  portal,  and  admitted  Locksley,  with  his 
two  companions. 

“Why,  hermit,”  was  the  yeoman’s  first  question, 
as  soon  as  he  beheld  the  knight,  “what  boon  com¬ 
panion  hast  thou  here?” 

“A  brother  of  our  order,”  replied  the  friar, 
shaking  his  head;  “we  have  been  at  our  orisons  all 
night.” 

“He  is  a  monk  of  the  church  militant,1  I  think,” 
answered  Locksley;  “and  there  be  more  of  them 
abroad.  I  tell  thee,  friar,  thou  must  lay  down  the 
rosary  and  take  up  the  quarter-staff;  we  shall  need 

’Fighting  sin  in  contrast  to  the  church  triumphant  in 

Heaven  which  is  victorious  over  sin. 


IVANIIOE 


261 


[every  one  of  our  merry  men,  whether  clerk  or  lay¬ 
man. — But/’  he  added,  taking  him  a  step  aside,  “art 
ithou  mad?  to  give  admittance  to  a  knight  thou  dost 
[not  know?  Hast  thou  forgot  our  articles ?” 

“Not  know  him!”  replied  the  friar,  boldly,  “I 
know  him  as  well  as  the  beggar  knows  his  dish.” 

“And  what  is  his  name,  then?”  demanded  Lock- 
sley. 

“His  name,”  said  the  hermit — “his  name  is  Sir 
Anthony  of  Scrabblestone — as  if  I  would  drink  with 
a  man,  and  did  not  know  his  name!” 

“Thou  hast  been  drinking  more  than  enough, 
[friar, ”  said  the  woodman,  “and,  I  fear,  prating 
more  than  enough,  too.” 

“Good  yeoman,”  said  the  knight,  coming  for¬ 
ward,  “be  not  wroth  with  my  merry  host.  He  did 
but  afford  me  the  hospitality  which  I  would  have 
compelled  from  him  if  he  had  refused  it.” 

“Thou  compel!”  said  the  friar;  “wait  but  till  I 
have  changed  this  gray  gown  for  a  green  cassock, 
and  if  I  make  not  a  quarter-staff  ring  twelve  upon 
thy  pate,  I  am  neither  true  clerk  nor  good  woods- 
I  man.” 

While  he  spoke  thus,  he  stripped  off  his  gown, 
and  appeared  in  a  close  black  buckram  doublet  and 
drawers,  over  which  he  speedily  did  don  a  cassock 
|  of  green,  and  hose  of  the  same  color.  “I  pray  thee 
I  truss  my  points,”  said  he  to  Wamba,  “and  thou 
I  shalt  have  a  cup  of  sack  for  thy  labor.” 

“Gramercy  for  thy  sack,”  said  Wamba;  “but 
.  think’st  thou  it  is  lawful  for  me  to  aid  you  to  trans- 
1  mew  thyself  from  a  holy  hermit  into  a  sinful  fores¬ 
ter?” 

“Never  fear,”  said  the  hermit;  “I  will  but  con¬ 
fess  the  sins  of  my  green  cloak  to  my  gray  friar’s 
frock,  and  all  shall  be  well  again.” 


262 


IVANHOE 


“Amen!”  answered  the  Jester;  “a  broadcloth 
penitent  should  have  a  sackcloth  confessor,  and  your 
frock  may  absolve  my  motley  doublet  into  the  bar¬ 
gain.” 

So  saying,  he  accommodated  the  friar  with  his 
assistance  in  tying  the  endless  number  of  points,  as 
the  laces  which  attached  the  hose  to  the  doublet 
were  then  termed. 

While  they  were  thus  employed,  Locksley  led  the 
knight  a  little  apart,  and  addressed  him  thus: 
“Deny  it  not,  Sir  Knight,  you  are  he  who  decided 
the  victory  to  the  advantage  of  the  English  against 
the  strangers  on  the  second  day  of  the  tournament 
at  Ashby.” 

“And  what  follows  if  you  guess  truly,  good  yeo¬ 
man?”  replied  the  knight. 

“I  should  in  that  case  hold  you,”  replied  the  yeo¬ 
man,  “a  friend  to  the  weaker  party.” 

“Such  is  the  duty  of  a  true  knight,  at  least,” 
replied  the  Black  Champion:  “and  I  would  not  wil¬ 
lingly  that  there  were  reason  to  think  otherwise 
of  me.” 

“But  for  my  purpose,”  said  the  yeoman,  “thou 
shouldst  be  as  well  a  good  Englishman  as  a  good 
knight;  for  that,  which  I  have  to  speak  of,  con¬ 
cerns,  indeed,  the  duty  of  every  honest  man,  but  is 
more  especially  that  of  a  true-born  native  of  Eng¬ 
land.” 

“You  can  speak  to  no  one,”  replied  the  knight, 
“to  whom  England,  and  the  life  of  every  English¬ 
man,  can  be  dearer  than  to  me.” 

“I  would  willingly  believe  so,”  said  the  woods¬ 
man,  “for  never  had  this  country  such  need  to  be 
supported  by  those  who  love  her.  Hear  me,  and  I 
will  tell  thee  of  an  enterprise,  in  which,  if  thou 
be'st  really  that  which  thou  seemest,  thou  mayst 


IVANHOE 


263 


take  an  honorable  part.  A  band  of  villains,  in  the 
disquise  of  better  men  than  themselves,  have  made 
themselves  master  of  the  person  of  a  noble  Eng¬ 
lishman,  called  Cedric  the  Saxon,  together  with  his 
ward,  and  his  friend  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh, 
and  have  transported  them  to  a  castle  in  this  for¬ 
est,  called  Torquilstone.  I  ask  of  thee,  as  a  good 
knight  and  a  good  Englishman,  wilt  thou  aid  in 
their  rescue ?” 

“I  am  bound  by  my  vowT  to  do  so,”  replied  the 
knight  ;  “but  I  would  willingly  know  who  you  are, 
who  request  my  assistance  in  their  behalf?” 

“I  am,”  said  the  forester,  “a  nameless  man;  but 
I  am  the  friend  of  my  country,  and  of  my  own 
country’s  friends. — With  this  account  of  me  you 
|  must  for  the  present  remain  satisfied,  the  more  es- 
i  pecially  since  you  yourself  desire  to  continue  un¬ 
known.  Believe,  however,  that  my  word,  when 
pledged,  is  as  inviolate  as  if  I  wore  golden  spurs.” 

“I  willingly  believe  it,”  said  the  knight;  “I  have 
been  accustomed  to  study  men’s  countenances,  and 
I  can  read  in  thine  honesty  and  resolution.  I  will, 
therefore,  ask  thee  no  further  questions,  but  aid 
thee  in  setting  at  freedom  these  oppressed  captives; 
which  done,  I  trust  we  shall  part  better  acquainted, 
and  well  satisfied  with  each  other.” 

“So,”  said  Wamba  to  Gurth,— for  the  friar  being 
now  fully  equipped,  the  Jester,  having  approached 
to  the  other  side  of  the  hut,  had  heard  the  con¬ 
clusion  of  the  conversation,— “So  we  have  got  a  new 

ally ? I  trust  the  valor  of  the  knight  will  be  truer 

metal  than  the  religion  of  the  hermit,  or  the  hon¬ 
esty  of  the  yeoman;  for  this  Locksley  looks  like  a 


Question:  Do  you  understand  why  the  Black  Knight 
was  taken  to  the  hermit’s? 


264 


IVANHOE 


born  deer-stealer,  and  the  priest  like  a  lusty  hypo¬ 
crite/’ 

“Hold  thy  peace,  Wamba,”  said  Gurth ;  it  may 
all  be  as  thou  dost  guess;  but  were  the  horned 
devil  to  rise  and  proffer  me  his  assistance  to  set  at 
liberty  Cedric  and  the  Lady  Rowena,  I  fear  I  should 
hardly  have  religion  enough  to  refuse  the  foul 
fiend’s  offer,  and  bid  him  get  behind  me.” 

The  friar  was  now  completely  accoutered  as  a 
yoeman,  with  sword  and  buckler,  bow  and  quiver, 
and  a  strong  partisan  over  his  shoulder.  He  left 
his  cell  at  the  head  of  the  party,  and,  having  care¬ 
fully  locked  the  door,  deposited  the  key  under  the 
threshold. 

“Art  thou  in  condition  to  do  good  service,  friar,” 
said  Locksley,  “or  does  the  brown  bowl  still  run  in 
thy  head?” 

“Not  more  than  a  draught  of  St.  Dunstan’s  foun¬ 
tain  will  allay,”  answered  the  priest;  “something 
there  is  of  a  whizzing  in  my  brain,  and  of  insta¬ 
bility  in  my  legs,  but  you  shall  presently  see  both 
pass  away.” 

So  saying,  he  stepped  to  the-  stone  basin,  in  which 
the  waters  of  the  fountain  as  they  fell  formed 
bubbles  which  danced  in  the  white  moonlight,  and 
took  so  long  a  draught  as  if  he  had  meant  to  ex¬ 
haust  the  spring. 

“When  didst  thou  drink  as  deep  a  draught  of 
water  before,  Holy  Clerk  of  Copmanhurst?”  said 
the  Black  Knight. 

“Never  since  my  wine-butt  leaked,  and  let  out  its 
liquor  by  an  illegal  vent,”  replied  the  friar,  “and 
so  left  me  nothing  to  drink  but  my  patron’s  bounty 
here.” 

Then  plunging  his  hands  and  head  into  the  foun¬ 
tain,  he  washed  from  them  all  marks  of  the  mid- 


IVANHOE 


265 


night  revel.  Thus  refreshed  and  sobered,  the  jolly 
priest  twirled  his  heavy  partisan  round  his  head 
with  three  fingers,  as  if  he  had  been  balancing  a 
|  reed,  exclaiming  at  the  same  time,  “Where  be  those 
l  false  ravishers,  who  carry  off  wenches  against 
! their  will?  May  the  foul  fiend  fly  off  with  me,  if 
I  am  not  man  enough  for  a  dozen  of  them.” 

“Swearest  thou.  Holy  Clerk?”  said  the  Black 
Knight. 

“Clerk  me  no  Clerks,”  replied  the  transformed 
priest;  “by  Saint  George  and  the  Dragon,  I  am  no 
longer  a  shaveling  than  while  my  frock  is  on  my 
back.— When  I  am  cased  in  my  green  cassock,  I 
will  drink,  swear,  and  woo  a  lass,  with  any  blithe 
forester  in  the  West  Riding.” 

“Come  on,  Jack  Priest,”  said  Locksley,  “and  be 
silent;  thou  art  as. noisy  as  a  whole  convent  on  a 
:  holy  eve,  when  the  Father  Abbot  has  gone  to  bed. — 
Come  on  you,  too,  my  masters,  tarry  not  to  talk  of 
it — I  say,  come  on,  we  must  collect  all  our  forces, 
and  few  enough  we  shall  have,  if  we  are  to  storm 
the  Castle  of  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf.” 

“What !  is  it  Front-de-Bceuf,”  said  the  Black 
king's  liege  subjects? — Is  he  turned  thief  and  op¬ 
pressor?” 

“Oppressor  he  ever  was,”  said  Locksley. 

“And  for  thief,”  said  the  priest,  “I  doubt  if  ever 
i  be  were  even  half  so  honest  a  man  as  many  a  thief 
of  my  acquaintance.” 

“Move  on,  priest,  and  be  silent,”  said  the  yeoman; 
“it  were  better  you  led  the  way  to  the  place  of  ren¬ 
dezvous,  than  say  what  should  be  left  unsaid,  both 
in  decency  and  prudence.” 


CHAPTER  XXI 


Alas,  how  many  hours  and  years  have  past, 

Since  human  forms  have  round  this  table  sate, 

Or  lamp,  or  taper,  on  its  surface  gleam’d ! 

Methinks,  I  hear  the  sound  of  time  long  pass’d 
Still  murmuring  o’er  us,  in  the  lofty  void 
Of  these  dark  arches,  like  the  ling'ring  voices 
Of  those  who  long  within  their  graves  have  slept. 

Orra,  a  Tragedy . 

While  these  measures  were  taking  in  behalf  of 
Cedric  and  his  companions  the  armed  men  by  whom 
the  latter  had  been  seized  hurried  their  captives 
along  towards  the  place  of  security,  where  they  in¬ 
tended  to  imprison  them;  but  darkness  came  on  fast, 
and  the  paths  of  the  wood  seemed  but  imperfectly 
known  to  the  marauders.  They  were  compelled  to 
make  several  long  halts,  and  once  or  twice  to  re¬ 
turn  on  their  road  to  resume  the  direction  which 
they  wished  to  pursue.  The  summer  morn  had 
dawned  upon  them  ere  they  could  travel  in  full  as¬ 
surance  that  they  held  the  right  path;  but  confidence 
returned  with  light,  and  the  cavalcade  now  moved 
rapidly  forward.  Meanwhile,  the  following  dia¬ 
logue  took  place  between  the  two  leaders  of  the  ban¬ 
ditti. 

“It  is  time  thou  shouldst  leave  us,  Sir  Maurice," 
said  the  Templar  to  De  Bracy,  “in  order  to  prepare 
the  second  part  of  thy  mystery.  Thou  art  next,  thou 
knowest,  to  act  the  Knight  Deliverer." 

“I  have  thought  better  of  it,"  said  De  Bracy;  “I 
will  not  leave  thee  till  the  prize  is  fairly  deposited 
in  Front-de-Bceuf’s  castle.  There  will  I  appear  be¬ 
fore  the  Lady  Rowena  in  mine  own  shape,  and  trust 
that  she  will  set  down  to  the  vehemence  of  my 
passion  the  violence  of  which  I  have  been  guilty." 


IVANHOE 


267 


“And  what  has  made  thee  change  thy  plan,  De 
Bracy?”  replied  the  Knight  Templar. 

“That  concerns  thee  nothing/’  answered  his  com¬ 
panion. 

“I  would  hope,  however,  Sir  Knight,”  said  the 
Templar,  “that  this  alteration  of  measures  arises 
j  from  no  suspicion  of  my  honorable  meaning,  such  as 
Fitzurse  endeavored  to  instill  into  thee?” 

“My  thoughts  are  my  own,”  answered  De  Bracy; 
“the  fiend  laughs,  they  say,  when  one  thief  robs  an¬ 
other;  and  we  know,  that  were  he  to  spit  fire  and 
brimstone  instead,  it  would  never  prevent  a  Templar 
from  following  his  bent.” 

“Or  the  leader  of  a  Free  Company,”  answered  the 
Templar,  “from  dreading  at  the  hands  of  a  comrade 
and  friend  the  injustice  he  does  to  all  mankind.” 

“This  is  unprofitable  and  perilous  recrimination,” 
answered  De  Bracy;  “suffice  it  to  say,  I  know  the 
morals  of  the  Temple-Order,  and  I  will  not  give  thee 
the  power  of  cheating  me  out  of  the  fair  prey  for 
which  I  have  run  such  risks.” 

“Psha,”  replied  the  Templar,  “what  hast  thou  to 
fear? — Thou  knowest  the  vows  of  our  order.” 

“Right  well,”  said  De  Bracy,  “and  also  how  they 
are  kept.  Come,  Sir  Templar,  the  laws  of  gallantry 
have  a  liberal  interpretation  in  Palestine,  and  this  is 
a  case  in  which  I  will  trust  nothing  to  your  con¬ 
science.” 

“Hear  the  truth,  then,”  said  the  Templar;  “I 
care  not  for  your  blue-eyed  beauty.  There  is  m  that 
train  one  who  will  make  me  a  better  mate. 

“What!  wouldst  thou  stoop  to  the  waiting  dam¬ 
sel?”  said  De  Bracy.  .... 

“No,  Sir  Knight,”  said  the  Templar,  haughtily. 
“To  the  waiting-woman  will  I  not  stoop.  I  have 
a  prize  among  the  captives  as  lovely  as  thine  own. 


268 


Ivan  hoe 


“By  the  mass,  thou  meanest  the  fair  Jewess !” 

said  De  Bracy.  | 

“And  if  I  do,”  said  Bois-Gilbert,  “who  shall 

gainsay  me?” 

“No  one  that  I  know,”  said  De  Bracy,  “unless  it 
be  your  vow  of  celibacy,  or  a  check  of  conscience  for 
an  intrigue  with  a  Jewess.” 

“For  my  vow,”  said  the  Templar,  “our  Grand 
Master  hath  granted  me  a  dispensation.  And  for 
my  conscience,  a  man  that  has  slain  three  hundred 
Saracens,  need  not  reckon  up  every  little  failing,  like 
a  village  girl  at  her  first  confession  upon  Good  Fri¬ 
day  eve.” 

“Thou  knowest  best  thine  own  privileges,”  said 
De  Bracy.  “Yet  I  would  have  sworn  thy  thought 
had  been  more  on  the  old  usurer’s  money-bags  than 
on  the  black  eyes  of  the  daughter.” 

“I  can  admire  both,”  answered  the  Templar; 
“besides,  the  old  Jew  is  but  half-prize.  I  must  share 
his  spoils  with  Front -de-Bceuf,  who  will  not  lend  us 
the  use  of  his  castle  for  nothing.  I  must  have  some¬ 
thing  that  I  can  term  exclusively  my  own  by  this 
foray  of  ours,  and  I  have  fixed  on  the  lovely  Jewess 
as  my  peculiar  prize.  But,  now  thou  knowest  my 
drift,  thou  wilt  resume  thine  own  original  plan,  wilt 
thou  not? — Thou  has  nothing,  thou  seest,  to  fear 
from  my  interference.” 

“No,”  replied  De  Bracy,  “I  will  remain  beside 
my  prize.  What  thou  sayest  is  passing  true,  but  I 
like  not  the  privileges  acquired  by  the  dispensation 
of  the  Grand  Master,  and  the  merit  acquired  by  the 
slaughter  of  three  hundred  Saracens.  You  have  too 
good  a  right  to  a  free  pardon  to  render  you  very 
scrupulous  about  peccadilloes.” 

While  this  dialogue  was  proceeding,  Cedric  was 
endeavoring  to  wring  out  of  those  who  guarded  him 


IVANHOE 


269 


an  avowal  of  their  character  and  purpose.  “You 
should  be  Englishmen/’  said  he;  “and  yet,  sacred 
Heaven!  you  help  prey  upon  your  countrymen  as  if 
you  were  very  Normans.  You  should  be  my  neigh¬ 
bors,  and,  if  so,  my  friends ;  for  which  of  my  English 
neighbors  have  reason  to  be  otherwise?  I  tell  ye, 
yeomen,  that  even  those  among  ye  who  have  been 
branded  with  outlawry  have  had  from  me  protec¬ 
tion;  for  I  have  pitied  their  miseries,  and  curst  the 
oppression  of  their  tyrannic  nobles.  What,  then, 
would  you  have  of  me?  or  in  what  can  this  violence 
serve  ye? — Ye  are  worse  than  brute  beasts,  in  your 
actions,  and  will  you  imitate  them  in  their  very 
dumbness?” 

It  wTas  in  vain  that  Cedric  expostulated  with  his 
guards,  who  had  too  many  good  reasons  for  their 
silence  to  be  induced  to  break  it  either  by  his  wrath 
or  his  expostulations.  They  continued  to  hurry  him 
along,  traveling  at  a  very  rapid  rate,  until,  at  the 
*nd  of  an  avenue  of  huge  trees,  arose  Torquilstone, 
now  the  hoary  and  ancient  castle  of  Reginald  Front 
de-Bceuf.  It  was  a  fortress  of  no  great  size,  consist¬ 
ing  of  a  donjon,  or  large  and  high  square  tower,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  buildings  of  inferior  height,  which  were 
encircled  by  an  inner  courtyard.  Around  the  exter¬ 
ior  wall  was  a  deep  moat,  supplied  with  water  from 
a  neighboring  rivulet.  Front-de-Boeuf,  whose  char¬ 
acter  placed  him  often  at  feud  with  his  enemies, 
had  made  considerable  additions  to  the  strength  of 
his  castle,  by  building  towers  upon  the  outward  wall, 
so  as  to  flank  it  at  every  angle.  The  access,  as  usual 
I  in  castles  of  the  period,  lay  through  an  arched  bar¬ 
bican,  or  outwork,  which  was  terminated  and  de¬ 
fended  by  a  small  turret  at  each  corner. 

Cedric  no  sooner  saw  the  turrets  of  Front-de- 

Question  :  Name  the  plans  for  distributing  the  prisoners. 


270 


IVANIIOE 


Boeuf’s  castle  raise  their  gray  and  moss-grown  bat¬ 
tlements,  glimmering  in  the  morning  sun  above  the 
wood  by  which  they  were  surrounded,  than  he  in¬ 
stantly  augured  more  truly  concerning  the  cause  of 
his  misfortune. 

“I  did  injustice,”  he  said,  “to  the  thieves  and 
outlaws  of  these  woods,  when  I  supposed  such  ban¬ 
ditti  to  belong  to  their  bands;  I  might  as  justly 
have  confounded  the  foxes  of  these  brakes  with  the 
ravening  wolves  of  France.  Tell  me,  dogs — is  it  my 
life  or  my  wealth  that  your  master  aims  at?  Is  it 
too  much  that  two  Saxons,  myself  and  the  noble 
Athelstane,  should  hold  land  in  the  country  which 
was  once  the  patrimony  of  our  race? — Put  us  then 
to  death,  and  complete  your  tyranny  by  taking  our 
lives,  as  you  began  with  our  liberties.  If  the  Saxon 
Cedric  cannot  rescue  England,  he  is  willing  to  die 
for  her.  Tell  your  tyrannical  master,  I  do  only 
beseech  him  to  dismiss  the  Lady  Rowena  in  honor 
and  safety.  She  is  a  woman,  and  he  need  not  dread 
her;  and  with  us  will  die  all  who  dare  fight  in  her 
cause.” 

The  attendants  remained  as  mute  to  his  address 
as  to  the  former,  and  they  now  stood  before  the  gate 
of  the  castle.  De  Bracy  winded  his  horn  three 
times,  and  the  archers  and  cross-bowmen,  who  had 
manned  the  wall  upon  seeing  their  approach,  has¬ 
tened  to  lower  the  drawbridge,  and  admit  them. 
The  prisoners  were  compelled  by  their  guards  to 
alight,  and  were  conducted  to  an  apartment  where 
a  hasty  repast  was  offered  them,  of  which  none  but 
Athelstane  felt  any  inclination  to  partake.  Neither 
had  the  descendant  of  the  Confessor  much  time  to 
do  justice  to  the  good  cheer  placed  before  them, 
for  their  guards  gave  him  and  Cedric  to  understand 
that  they  were  to  be  imprisoned  in  a  chamber  apart 
from  Rowena>  Resistance  was  vain;  and  they  were 


IVANHOE 


271 


compelled  to  follow  to  a  large  room,  which,  rising 
on  clumsy  Saxon  pillars,  resembled  those  refectories 
and  chapter-houses  which  may  be  still  seen  in  the 
most  ancient  parts  of  our  most  ancient  monasteries. 

The  Lady  Rowena  was  next  separated  from  her 
train,  and  conducted,  with  courtesy,  indeed,  but  still 
without  consulting  her  inclination,  to  a  distant 
apartment.  The  same  alarming  distinction  was  con¬ 
ferred  on  Rebecca,  in  spite  of  her  father’s  entreat¬ 
ies,  who  offered  even  money,  in  his  extremity  of 
distress,  that  she  might  be  permitted  to  abide  with 
him.  “Base  unbeliever,”  answered  one  of  his  guards, 
“when  thou  hast  seen  thy  lair,  thou  wilt  not  wish 
|  thy  daughter  to  partake  it.”  And,  without  further 
discussion,  the  old  Jew  was  forcibly  dragged  off  in  a 
different  direction  from  the  other  prisoners.  The 
domestics,  after  being  carefully  searched  and  dis¬ 
armed,  were  confined  in  another  part  of  the  castle; 
and  Rowena  was  refused  even  the  comfort  she  might 
have  derived  from  the  attendance  of  her  handmaiden 
Elgitha. 

The  apartment  in  which  the  Saxon  chiefs  were 
confined,  for  to  them  we  turn  our  first  attention,  al¬ 
though  at  present  used  as  a  sort  of  guard-room,  had 
formerly  been  the  great  hall  of  the  castle.  It  was 
now  abandoned  to  meaner  purposes,  because  the 
present  lord,  among  other  additions  to  the  conven¬ 
ience,  security,  and  beauty  of  his  baronical  residence, 
had  erected  a  new  and  noble  hall,  whose  vaulted 
roof  was  supported  by  lighter  and  more  elegant  pil¬ 
lars,  and  fitted  up  with  that  higher  degree  of  orna¬ 
ment  which  the  Normans  had  already  introduced 
j  into  architecture. 

Cedric  paced  the  apartment,  filled  with  indignant 
reflections  on  the  past  and  on  the  present,  while 


272 


Ivan  hoe 


the  apathy  of  his  companion  served,  instead  of 
patience  and  philosophy,  to  defend  him  against 
everything  save  the  inconvenience  of  the  present 
moment;  and  so  little  did  he  feel  even  this  last, 
that  he  was  only  from  time  to  time  roused  to  a 
reply  by  Cedric’s  animated  and  impassioned  appeal 
to  him. 

“Yes,”  said  Cedric,  half  speaking  to  himself,  and 
half  addressing  himself  to  Athelstane,  “it  was  in 
this  very  hall  that  my  father  feasted  with  Torquil 
Wolfganger,  when  he  entertained  the  valiant  and 
unfortunate  Harold,1 — then  advancing  against  the 
Norwegians,  who  had  united  themselves  to  the  rebel 
Tosti.  It  was  in  this  hall  that  Harold  returned  the 
magnanimous  answer  to  the  ambassador  of  his  rebel 
brother.  Oft  have  I  heard  my  father  kindle  as  he 
told  the  tale.  The  envoy  of  Tosti  was  admitted, 
when  this  ample  room  could  scarce ,  contain  the 
crowd  of  noble  Saxon  leaders,  who  were  quaffing 
the  blood-red  wine  around  their  monarch.” 

“I  hope,”  said  Athelstane,  somewhat  moved  by 
this  part  of  his  friend’s  discourse,  “they  will  not 
forget  to  send  us  some  wine  and  refections  at  noon 
— we  had  scarce  a  breathing-space  allowed  to  break  j 
our  fast,  and  I  never  have  the  benefit  of  my  food 
when  I  eat  immediately  after  dismounting  from 
horseback,  though  the  leeches  recommend  that  prac¬ 
tice.” 

Cedric  went  on  with  his  story  without  noticing 
this  inter jectional  observation  of  his  friend. 

“The  envoy  of  Tosti,”  he  said,  “moved  up  the 
hall,  undismayed  by  the  frowning  countenances  of 

"The  Saxon  king  defeated  by  William  the  Conqueror  in 
1066  at  Hastings.  Harold  defeated  his  brother  Tosti  in  a 
battle  just  before  Hastings.  These  times  are  indeed  much 
too  early  for  Cedric  to  remember,  but  they  are  interesting 


IVANHOE 


273 


all  around  him,  until  he  made  his  obeisance  before 
the  throne  of  King  Harold. 

“  ‘What  terms,’  he  said,  ‘Lord  King,  hath  thy 
brother  Tosti  to  hope,  if  he  should  lay  down  his 
arms,  and  crave  peace  at  thy  hands?’ 

“  ‘A  brother’s  love,’  cried  the  generous  Harold, 
‘and  the  fair  earldom  of  Northumberland.’ 

“  ‘But  should  Tosti  accept  these  terms,’  con¬ 
tinued  the  envoy,  ‘what  lands  shall  be  assigned  to 
his  faithful  ally,  Hardrada,  King  of  Norway?’ 

“  ‘Seven  feet  of  English  ground,’  answered 
Harold,  fiercely,  ‘or  as  Hardrada  is  said  to  be  a 
giant,  perhaps  we  may  allow  him  twelve  inches 
more.’ 

“The  bell  rung  with  acclamations,  and  cup  and 
horn  was  filled  to  the  Norwegian,  who  should  be 
speedily  in  possession  of  his  English  territory.” 

“I  could  have  pledged  him  with  all  my  soul,” 
said  Athelstane,  “for  my  tongue  cleaves  to  my 
palate.” 

“The  baffled  envoy,”  continued  Cedric,  pursuing 
with  animation  his  tale,  though  it  interested  not  the 
listener,  “retreated,  to  carry  to  Tosti  and  his  ally 
the  ominous  answer  to  his  injured  brother.  It  was 
then  that  the  distant  towers  of  York,  and  the  bloody 
streams  of  the  Derwent,1  beheld  that  direful  conflict, 
in  which,  after  displaying  the  most  undaunted  valor, 
the  King  of  Norway  and  Tosti  both  fell,  with  ten 
thousand  of  their  bravest  followers.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  upon  the  proud  day  when  this  bat¬ 
tle  was  won,  the  very  gale  which  saved  the  Saxon 
banners  in  triumph  was  filling  the  Norman  sails, 
and  impelling  them  to  the  fatal  shores  of  Sussex?— 
Who  would  have  thought  that  Harold,  within  a 
few  brief  days,  would  himself  possess  no  more  of 


JA  river  near  York.  (See  appendix). 


274 


Ivan  hoe 


his  kingdom  than  the  share  which  he  alloted  in  his 
wrath  to  the  Norwegian  invader? — Who  would  have 
thought  that  you,  noble  Athelstane — that  you,  de¬ 
scended  of  Harold’s  blood,  and  that  I,  whose  father 
was  not  the  worst  defender  of  the  Saxon  crown, 
should  be  prisoners  to  a  vile  Norman,  in  *the  very 
hall  in  which  our  ancestors  held  such  high  festival?” 

“It  is  sad  enough,”  replied  Athelstane;  “but  I 
trust  they  will  hold  us  to  a  moderate  ransom — At 
any  late  it  cannot  be  their  purpose  to  starve  us  out¬ 
right;  and  yet,  although  it  is  high  noon,  I  see  no 
preparations  for  serving  dinner.  Look  up  at  the 
window,  noble  Cedric,  and  judge  by  the  sunbeams  if 
it  is  not  on  the  verge  of  noon.” 

“It  may  be  so,”  answered  Cedric;  “but  I  cannot 
look  on  that  stained  lattice  without  its  awakening 
other  reflections  than  those  which  concern  the  pass¬ 
ing  moment,  or  its  privations.  When  that  window 
was  wrought,  my  noble  friend,  our  hardy  fathers' 
knew  not  the  art  of  making  glass,  or  of  staining  it 
— The  pride  of  Wolfganger’s  father  brought  an  artist 
from  Normandy  to  adorn  his  hall  with  this  new 
species  of  emblazonment,  that  breaks  the  golden 
light  of  God’s  blessed  day  into  so  many  fantastic 
hues.  The  foreigner  came  here  poor,  beggarly, 
cringing,  and  subservient,  ready  to  doff  his  cap  to 
the  meanest  native  of  the  household.  He  returned 
pampered  and  proud,  to  tell  his  rapacious  country¬ 
men  of  the  wealth  and  the  simplicity  of  the  Saxon 
nobles — a  folly,  0,  Athelstane,  foreboded  of  old,  as 
well  as  foreseen,  by  those  descendants  of  Hengist5 
and  . his  hardy  tribes,  who  retained  the  simplicity  of 
their  manners.  We  made  these  strangers  our  bosom 
friends,  our  confidential  servants;  we  borrowed  their 
artists  and  their  arts,  and  despised  the  honest  sim- 


tbeader  of  early  invading  German  forces. 


IVANHOE 


275 


plicity  and  hardihood  with  which  our  brave  ances- 
i  tors  supported  themselves,  and  we  became  enervated 
by  Norman  arts  long  ere  we  fell  under  Norman  arms. 
Far  better  was  our  homely  diet,  eaten  in  peace  and 
liberty,  than  the  luxurious  dainties,  the  love  of 
j  which  hath  delivered  us  as  bondsmen  to  the  foreign 
j  conqueror!” 

“I  should,”  replied  Athelstane,  “hold  very  humble 
diet  a  luxury  at  present;  and  it  astonishes  me,  noble 
Cedric,  that  you  can  bear  so  truly  in  mind  the 
memory  of  past  deeds,  when  it  appeareth  you  forget 
the  very  hour  of  dinner.” 

“It  is  time  lost,”  muttered  Cedric  apart  and  im¬ 
patiently,  “to  speak  to  him  of  aught  else  but  that 
which  concerns  his  appetite!  The  soul  of  Hardi- 
canute1  hath  taken  possession  of  him,  and  he 
hath  no  pleasure  save  to  fill,  to  swill,  and  to  call 
1  for  more.  Alas!”  said  he,  looking  at  Athelstane  with 
compassion,  “that  so  dull  a  spirit  should  be  lodged 
in  so  goodly  a  form!  Alas!  that  such  an  enter¬ 
prise  as  the  regeneration  of  England  should  turn  on 
a  hinge  so  imperfect!  Wedded  to  Rowena,  indeed, 
her  nobler  and  more  generous  soul  may  yet  awake 
the  better  nature  which  is  torpid  within  him.  Yet 
how  should  this  be,  while  Rowena,  Athelstane,  and 
I  myself  remain  the  prisoners  of  this  brutal  ma¬ 
rauder,  and  have  been  made  so  perhaps  from  a  sense 
of  the  dangers  which  our  liberty  might  bring  to  the 
usurped  power  of  this  nation?” 

While  the  Saxon  was  plunged  in  these  painful 
reflections,  the  door  of  their  prison  opened,  and  gave 
entrance  to  a  sewer,  holding  his  white  rod  of  office. 
This*  important  person  advanced  into  the  chamber 
with  a  grave  pace,  followed  by  four  attendants,  bear- 

cruel  and  savage  Danish  king  of  England  in  the 
eleventh  century. 


276 


Ivan  hoe 


ing  in  a  table  covered  with  dishes,  the  sight  and 
smell  of  which  seemed  to  be  an  instant  compensation 
to  Athelstane  for  all  the  inconvenience  he  had  under¬ 
gone.  The  persons  who  attended  on  the  feast  were 
masked  and  cloaked. 

“What  mummery  is  this?”  said  Cedric;  “think 
you  that  we  are  ignorant  whose  prisoners  we  are, 
when  we  are  in  the  castle  of  your  master?  Tell' 
him,”  he  continued,  willing  to  use  this  opportunity 
to  open  a  negotiation  for  his  freedom, — “tell  your 
master,  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,  that  we  know  no 
reason  he  can  have  for  withholding  our  liberty,  ex¬ 
cepting  his  unlawful  desire  to  enrich  himself  at 
our  expense.  Tell  him  that  we  yield  to  his  rapacity, 
as  in  similar  circumstances  we  should  do  to  that  of 
a  literal  robber.  Let  him  name  the  ransom  at  which 
he  rates  our  liberty,  and  it  shall  be  paid,  providing 
the  exaction  is  suited  to  our  means.” 

The  sewer  made  no  answer,  but  bowed  his  head. 

“And  tell  Sir  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf,”  said 
Athelstane,  “that  I  send  him  my  mortal  defiance, 
and  challenge  him  to  combat  with  me,  on  foot  or 
horseback,  at  any  secure  place,  within  eight  days 
after  our  liberation;  which,  if  he  be  a  true  knight, 
he  will  not,  under  these  circumstances,  venture  to 
refuse  or  to  delay.” 

“I  shall  deliver  to  the  knight  your  defiance,”  an¬ 
swered  the  sewer;  “meanwhile  I  leave  you  to  your 
food.” 

The  challenge  of  Athelstane  was  delivered  with 
no  good  grace;  for  a  large  mouthful,  which  required 
the  exercise  of  both  jaws  at  once,  added  to  a  natural 
hesitation,  considerably  damped  the  effect  of  the 
bold  defiance  it  contained.  Still,  however,  his  speech 
was  hailed  by  Cedric  as  an  incontestable  token  of 
reviving  spirit  in  his  companion,  whose  previous  in^ 


IVANHOE 


277 


lifference  had  begun,  notwithstanding  his  respect 
for  Athelstane’s  descent,  to  wear  out  his  patience. 
But  he  now  cordially  shook  hands  with  him  in  token 
)f  his  approbation,  and  was  somewhat  grieved  when 
Athelstane  observed  “that  he  would  fight  a  dozen 
such  men  as  Front-de-Bceuf,  if,  by  doing,  he 
:ould  hasten  his  departure  from  a  dungeon  where 
;hey  put  so  much  garlic  into  their  pottage.”  Not¬ 
withstanding  this  intimation  of  a  relapse  into  the 
apathy  of  sensuality,  Cedric  placed  himself  opposite 
:o  Athelstane,  and  soon  showed,  that  if  the  dis¬ 
tresses  of  his  country  could  banish  the  recollection 
of  food  while  the  table  was  uncovered,  yet  no  sooner 
were  the  victuals  put  there,  than  he  proved  that  the 
appetite  of  his  Saxon  ancestors  had  descended  to  him 
along  with  their  noble  qualities. 

The  captives  had  not  long  enjoyed  their  refresh¬ 
ment,  however,  ere  their  attention  was  disturbed 
even  from  this  most  serious  occupation  by  the  blast 
of  a  horn  winded  before  the  gate.  It  was  repeated 
three  times,  with  as  much  violence  as  if  it  had  been 
blown  before  an  enchanted  castle  by  the  destined 
knight,  at  whose  summons  halls  and  towers,  barbi¬ 
can  and  battlement,  were  to  roll  off  like  a  morning 
vapor.  The  Saxons  started  from  the  table,  and  has¬ 
tened  to  the  window.  But  their  curiosity  was  dis¬ 
appointed;  for  these  outlets  only  looked  upon  the 
court  of  the  castle,  and  the  sound  came  from  beyond 
its  precincts.  The  summons,  however,  seemed  of 
importance,  for  a  considerable  degree  of  bustle  in¬ 
stantly  took  place  in  the  castle. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


My  daughter  !  O  my  ducats  !  O  my  daughter  ! 

— > - O  my  Christian  ducats! 

Justice!  the  Law!  my  ducats,  and  my  daughter! 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

Leaving  the  Saxon  chiefs  to  return  to  their  ban¬ 
quet  as  soon  as  their  ungratified  curiosity  should 
permit  them  to  attend  to  the  calls  of  their  half-sati¬ 
ated  appetites,  we  have  to  look  in  upon  the  yet  more 
severe  imprisonment  of  Isaac  of  York.  The  poor 
Jew  had  been  hastily  thrust  into  a  dungeon-vault  of 
the  castle,  the  floor  of  which  was  deep  beneath  the 
level  of  the  ground,  and  very  damp,  being  lower  than 
even  the  moat  itself.  The  only  light  was  received 
through  one  or  two  loopholes  far  above  the  reach  of 
the  captive's  hand.  These  apertures  admitted,  even 
at  midday,  only  a  dim  and  uncertain  light,  which 
was  changed  for  utter  darkness  long  before  the 
rest  of  the  castle  had  lost  the  blessing  of  day. 
Chains  and  shackles,  which  had  been  the  portion  of 
former  captives,  from  whom  active  exertions  to  es¬ 
cape  had  been  apprehended,  hung  rusted  and  empty 
on  the  walls  of  the  prison,  and  in  the  rings  of  one 
of  those  sets  of  fetters  there  remained  two  molder- 
ing  bones,  which  seemed  to  have  been  once  those  of 
the  human  leg,  as  if  some  prisoner  had  been  left  not 
only  to  perish  there,  but  to  be  consumed  to  a  skele¬ 
ton. 

At  one  end  of  this  ghastly  apartment  was  a  large 
fire-ygrate,  over  the  top  of  which  were  stretched 
some  transverse  iron  bars,  half  devoured  with  rust. 

The  whole  appearance  of  the  dungeon  might  have 

Question  :  What  became  of  Ivanhoe? 

Question  :  What  is  the  significance  of  the  three  blasts 
from  the  horn? 


IVANHOE 


279 


appalled  a  stouter  heart  than  that  of  Isaac,  who, 
nevertheless,  was  more  composed  under  the  immi¬ 
nent  pressure  of  danger,  than  he  had  seemed  to  be 
while  affected  by  terrors,  of  which  the  cause  was  as 
yet  remote  and  contingent.  The  lovers  of  the  chase 
Isay  that  the  hare  feels  more  agony  during  the  pur¬ 
suit  of  the  greyhounds  than  when  she  is  struggling 
in  their  fangs.  And  thus  it  is  probable  that  the 
Jews,  by  the  very  frequency  of  their  fear  on  all  oc¬ 
casions,  had  their  minds  in  some  degree  prepared  for 
every  effort  of  tyranny  which  could  be  practiced 
upon  them;  so  that  no  aggression,  when  it  had  taken 
place,  could  bring  with  it  that  surprise  which  is  the 
most  disabling  quality  of  terror.  Neither  was  it 
the  first  time  that  Isaac  had  been  placed  in  circum¬ 
stances  so  dangerous.  He  had  therefore  experience 
to  guide  him,  as  well  as  hope,  that  he  might  again,  as 
formerly,  be  delivered  as  a  prey  from  the  fowler. 
Above  all,  he  had  upon  his  side  the  unyielding  ob¬ 
stinacy  of  his  nation,  and  that  unbending  resolution 
with  which  Israelites  have  been  frequently  known 
to  submit  to  the  uttermost  evils  which  power  and 
violence  can  inflict  upon  them,  rather  than  gratify 
their  oppressors  by  granting  their  demands. 

In  this  humor  of  passive  resistance,  and  with  his 
garment  collected  beneath  him  to  keep  his  limbs 
from  the  wet  pavement,  Isaac  sat  in  a  corner  of  his 
dungeon,  where  his  folded  hands,  his  disheveled 
hair  and  beard,  his  furred  cloak  and  high  cap, 
seen  by  the  wiry  and  broken  light,  would  have  af¬ 
forded  a  study  for  Rembrandt,1  had  that  celebrated 
painter  existed  at  the  period.  The  Jew  remained, 
without  altering  his  position,  for  nearly  three  hours, 

*A  celebrated  Dutch  painter  who  was  noted  for  his  por¬ 
traits,  especially  revealing  dark  settings  and  striking  fea¬ 
tures. 


280 


IVANHOE 


at  the  expiry  of  which  steps  were  heard  on  the  dun¬ 
geon  stair.  The  bolts  screamed  as  they  were  with¬ 
drawn — the  hinges  creaked  as  the  wicket  opened, 
and  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,  followed  by  the  two 
Saracen  slaves  of  the  Templar,  entered  the  prison. 

Front-de-Bceuf,  a  tall  and  strong  man,  whose  life 
had  been  spent  in  public  war  or  in  private  feuds  and 
broils,  and  who  had  hesitated  at  no  means  of  extend¬ 
ing  his  feudal  power,  had  features  corresponding  to 
his  character,  and  which  strongly  expressed  the 
fiercer  and  more  malignant  passions  of  the  mind. 
The  scars  with  which  his  visage  was  seamed  would, 
on  features  of  a  different  cast,  have  excited  the 
sympathy  and  veneration  due  to  the  marks  of  honor¬ 
able  valor;  but,  in  the  peculiar  case  of  Front-de- 
Bceuf,  they  only  added  to  the  ferocity  of  his  counten¬ 
ance,  and  to  the  dread  which  his  presence  inspired. 
This  formidable  baron  was  clad  in  a  leathern  doub¬ 
let,  fitted  close  to  his  body,  which  was  frayed  and 
soiled  with  the  stains  of  his  armor.  He  had  no 
weapon,  excepting  a  poniard  at  his  belt,  which  served 
to  counter-balance  the  weight  of  the  bunch  of  rusty 
keys  that  hung  at  his  right  side. 

The  black  slaves  who  attended  Front-de-Bceuf 
were  stripped  of  their  gorgeous  apparel,  and  attired 
in  jerkins  and  trousers  of  coarse  linen,  their  sleeves 
being  tucked  up  above  the  elbow,  like  those  of  butch¬ 
ers  when  about  to  exercise  their  function  in  the 
slaughter-house.  Each  had  in  his  hand  a  small 
pannier;  and,  when  they  entered  the  dungeon,  they 
stopt  at  the  door  until  Front-de-Bceuf,  himself  care¬ 
fully  locked  and  double-locked  it.  Having  taken  this 
precaution,  he  advanced  slowly  up  the  apartment 
towards  the  Jew,  upon  whom  he  kept  his  eye  fixed, 
as  if  he  wished  to  paralyze  him  with  his  glance,  as 
some  animals  are  said  to  fascinate  their  prey.  It 
seemed  indeed  as  if  the  sullen  and  malignant  eye 


IVANHOE 


281 


of  Front-de-Boeuf  possessed  some  portion  of  that 
supposed  power  over  his  unfortunate  prisoner.  The 
Jew  sate  with  his  mouth  a-gape,  and  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  savage  baron  with  such  earnestness  of  terror, 
that  his  frame  seemed  literally  to  shrink  together, 
and  to  diminish  in  size  while  encountering  the  fierce 
Norman’s  fixed  and  baleful  gaze.  The  unhappy 
Isaac  was  deprived  not  only  of  the  power  of  rising 
to  make  the  obeisance  which  his  terror  dictated,  but 
|  he  could  not  even  doff  his  cap,  or  utter  any  word  of 
supplication,  so  strongly  was  he  agitated  by  the  con¬ 
viction  that  tortures  and  death  were  impending  over 
him. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  stately  form  of  the  Nor¬ 
man  appeared  to  dilate  in  magnitude,  like  that  of  the 
eagle,  which  ruffles  up  its  plumage  when  about  to 
pounce  on  its  defenseless  prey.  He  paused  within 
three  steps  of  the  corner  in  which  the  unfortunate 
Jew  had  now,  as  it  were,  coiled  himself  up  into  the 
smallest  possible  space,  and  made  a  sign  for  one  of 
the  slaves  to  approach.  The  black  satellite  came 
forward  accordingly,  and,  producing  from  his  basket 
a  large  pair  of  scales  and  several  weights,  he  laid 
them  at  the  feet  of  Front-de-Bceuf,  and  again  re¬ 
tired  to  the  respectful  distance,  at  which  his  com¬ 
panion  had  already  taken  his  station. 

The  motions  of  these  men  were  slow  and  solemn, 
as  if  there  impended  over  their  souls  some  precon¬ 
ception  of  honor  and  of  cruelty.  Front-de-Boeuf 
himself  opened  the  scene  by  thus  addressing  his  ill- 
fated  captive. 

“Most  accursed  dog  of  an  accursed  race,”  he  said, 
awaking  with  his  deep  and  sullen  voice  the  sullen 
echoes  of  his  dungeon  vault,  “seest  thou  these 
scales?” 

The  unhappy  Jew  returned  a  feeble  affirmative. 

“In  these  very  scales  shalt  thou  weigh  me  out, 


282 


Ivan  hoe 


said  the  relentless  Baron,  “a  thousand  silver  pounds, 
after  the  just  measure  and  weight  of  the  Tower  of 
London.” 

“Holy  Abraham!”  returned  the  Jew,  finding 
voice  through  the  very  extremity  of  his  danger, 
“heard  man  ever  such  a  demand?  Who  ever  heard, 
even  in  a  minstrel’s  tale,  of  such  a  sum  as  a  thou¬ 
sand  pounds  of  silver?  What  human  sight  was  ever 
blessed  with  the  vision  of  such  a  mass  of  treasury? 
— Not  within  the  walls  of  York,  ransack  my  house 
and  that  of  all  my  tribe,  wilt  thou  find  the  tithe  of 
that  huge  sum  of  silver  that  thou  speakest  of.” 

“I  am  reasonable,”  answered  Front-de-Boeuf, 
“and  if  silver  be  scant,  I  refuse  not  gold.  At  the 
rate  of  a  mark  of  gold  for  each  six  pounds  of  silver, 
thou  shalt  free  thy  unbelieving  carcass  from  such 
punishment  as  thy  heart  has  never  even  conceived.” 

“Have  mercy  on  me,  noble  knight!”  exclaimed 
Isaac;  “I  am  old,  and  poor,  and  helpless.  It  were 
unworthy  to  triumph  over  me — It  is  a  poor  deed  to 
crush  a  worm.” 

“Old  thou  mayst  be,”  replied  the  knight;  “more 
shame  to  their  folly  who  have  suffered  thee  to  grow 
gray  in  usury  and  knavery — Feeble  thou  mayst  be, 
for  when  had  a  Jew  either  heart  or  hand — But  rich 
it  is  well  known  thou  art.” 

“I  swear  to  you,  noble  knight,”  said  the  Jew, 
“by  all  which  I  believe,  and  by  all  which  we  be¬ 
lieve  in  common — ” 

“Perjure  not  thyself,”  said  the  Norman,  inter¬ 
rupting  him.  “and  let  not  thine  obstinacy  seal  thy 
doom,  until  thou  hast  seen  and  well  considered  the 
fate  that  awaits  thee.  Think  not  I  speak  to  thee 
only  to  excite  thy  terror,  and  practice  on  the  base 
cowardice  thou  hast  derived  from  thy  tribe.  I  swear 
to  thee  by  that  which  thou  dost  not  believe,  by  the 
gospel  which  our  church  teaches,  and  by  the  keys 


Ivan  hoe 


288 


which  are  given  her  to  bind  and  to  loose,  that  my 
purpose  is  deep  and  peremptory.  This  dungeon  is  no 
place  for  trifling.  Prisoners  ten  thousand  times 
more  distinguished  than  thou  have  died  within  these 
walls,  and  their  fate  hath  never  been  known!  But 
for  thee  is  reserved  a  long  and  lingering  death,  to 
which  theirs  were  luxury.” 

He  again  made  a  signal  for  the  slaves  to  approach, 
and  spoke  to  them  apart,  in  their  own  language;  for 
he  also  had  been  in  Palestine,  where,  perhaps,  he 
had  learnt  his  lesson  of  cruelty.  The  Saracens  pro¬ 
duced  from  their  baskets  a  quantity  of  charcoal,  a 
pair  of  bellows,  and  a  flask  of  oil.  While  the  one 
struck  a  light  with  a  flint  and  steel,  the  other  dis¬ 
posed  the  charcoal  in  the  large  rusty  grate  which  we 
have  already  mentioned,  and  exercised  the  bellows 


until  the  fuel  came  to  a  red  glow. 

‘Seest  thou,  Isaac,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf, 


‘the 

on 


range  of  iron  bars  above  that  glowing  charcoal?— 
that  warm  couch  thou  shalt  lie,  stripped  of  thy 
clothes  as  if  thou  wert  to  rest  on  a  bed  of  down. 
One  of  these  slaves  shall  maintain  the  fire  beneath 
thee  while  the  other  shall  anoint  thy  wretched 
limbs  with  oil,  lest  the  roast  should  burn.— Now, 
choose  betwixt  such  a  scorching  bed  and  the  payment 
of  a  thousand,  pounds  of  silver;  for,  by^the  head 
of  my  father,  thou  hast  no  other  option.” 

“It  is  impossible,”  exclaimed  the  miserable  Jew— 
“it  is  impossible  that  your  purpose  can  be  real! 
The  good  God  of  nature  never  made  a  heart  capable 
of  exercising  such  cruelty!” 

“Trust  not  to  that,  Isaac,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf, 
“it  were  a  fatal  error.  Dost  thou  think  that  I,  who 
have  seen  a  town  sacked,  in  which  thousands  of  my 
Christian  countrymen  perished  by  sword,  by  flood, 
and  by  fire,  will  blench  from  my  purpose  for  the 
outcries  or  screams  of  one  single  wretched  Jew? 


284 


Ivan  hoe 


or  thinkest  thou  that  these  swarthy  slaves,  who 
have  neither  law,  country,  nor  conscience,  but  their 
master’s  will — who  use  the  poison,  or  the  stake,  or 
the  poniard,  or  the  cord,  at  his  slightest  wink — think¬ 
est  thou  that  they  will  have  mercy,  who  do  not  even 
understand  the  language  in  which  it  is  asked? — Be 
wise,  old  man;  discharge  thyself  of  a  portion  of  thy 
superfluous  wealth;  repay  to  the  hands  of  a  Christ¬ 
ian  a  part  of  what  thou  hast  acquired  by  the  usury 
thou  hast  practiced  on  those  of  his  religion.  Thy 
cunning  may  soon  swell  out  once  more  thy  shriveled 
purse,  but  neither  leech  nor  medicine  can  restore 
thy  scorched  hide  and  flesh  wert  thou  once  stretched 
on  these  bars.  Tell  down  thy  ransom,  I  say,  and 
rejoice  that  at  such  rate  thou  canst  redeem  thee 
from  a  dungeon,  the  secrets  of  which  few  have  re¬ 
turned  to  tell.  I  waste  no  more  words  with  thee — 
choose  between  thy  dross  and  thy  flesh  and  blood, 
and  as  thou  choosest,  so  shall  it  be.” 

“So  may  Abraham,  Jacob,  and  all  the  fathers  of 
our  people  assist  me,”  said  Isaac.  “I  cannot  make 
the  choice,  because  I  have  not  the  means  of  satis¬ 
fying  your  exorbitant  demand!” 

“Seize  him  and  strip  him,  slaves,”  said  the  knight, 
“and  let  the  fathers  of  his  race  assist  him  if  they 
can.” 

The  assistants,  taking  their  directions  more  from 
the  Baron’s  eye  and  his  hand  than  his  tongue,  once 
more  stepped  forward,  laid  hands  on  the  unfortunate 
Isaac,  plucked  him  up  from  the  ground,  and  holding 
him  between  them,  waited  the  hard-hearted  Baron’s 
farther  signal.  The  unhappy  Jew  eyed  their  coun¬ 
tenances  and  that  of  Front-de-Bceuf,  in  hope  of  dis¬ 
covering  some  symptoms  of  relenting;  but  that  of 
the  Baron  exhibited  the  same  cold,  half-sullen,  half- 
sarcastic  smile  which  had  been  the  prelude  to  his 
cruelty;  and  the  savage  eyes  of  the  Saracens,  roll- 


IVANHOE 


285 


ing  gloomily  under  their  dark  brows,  acquiring  a  yet 
more  sinister  expression  by  the  whiteness  of  the 
circle  which  surrounds  the  pupil,  evinced  rather  the 
secret  pleasure  which  they  expected  from  the  ap¬ 
proaching  scene,  than  any  reluctance  to  be  its  di¬ 
rectors  or  agents.  The  Jew  then  looked  at  the  glow¬ 
ing  furnace,  over  which  he  was  presently  to  be 
stretched,  and  seeing  no  chance  of  his  tormentor’s 
relenting,  his  resolution  gave  way. 

“I  will  pay,”  he  said,  “the  thousand  pounds  of 
silver — That  is,”  he  added,  after  a  moment’s  pause, 
“I  will  pay  it  with  the  help  of  my  brethren;  for  I 
must  beg  as  a  mendicant  at  the  door  of  our  syna¬ 
gogue  ere  I  make  up  so  unheard-of  a  sum. — When 
and  where  must  it  be  delivered?” 

“Here,”  replied  Front-de-Bceuf,  “here  it  must 
be  delivered — weighed  it  must  be — weighed  and  told 
down  on  this  very  dungeon  floor. — Thinkest  thou 
I  will  part  with  thee  until  thy  ransom  is  secure?” 

“And  what  is  to  be  my  surety,”  said  the  Jew, 
“that  I  shall  be  at  liberty  after  this  ransom  is 
paid?” 

“The  word  of  a  Norman  noble,  thou  pawnbroking 
slave,”  answered  Front-de-Boeuf ;  “the  faith  of  a 
Norman  nobleman,  more  pure  than  the  gold  and 
silver  of  thee  and  all  thy  tribe.” 

“I  crave  pardon,  noble  lord,”  said  Isaac,  timidly, 
“but  wherefore  should  I  rely  wholly  on  the  word  of 
one  who  will  trust  nothing  to  mine?” 

“Because  thou  canst  not  help  it,  Jew,”  said  the 
|  knight,  sternly.  “Wert  thou  now  in  thy  treasure- 
chamber  at  York,  and  were  I  craving  a  loan  of  thy 
shekels,  it  would  be  thine  to  dictate  the  time  of  pay¬ 
ment,  and  the  pledge  of  security.  This  is  my  treas¬ 
ure-chamber.  Here  I  have  thee  at  advantage,^  nor 
will  I  again  deign  to  repeat  the  terms  on  which  I 
grant  thee  liberty.” 


286 


IVANHOE 


The  Jew  groaned  deeply.— “Grant  me,”  he  said, 
“at  least  with  my  own  liberty,  that  of  the  compan¬ 
ions  with  whom  I  travel.  They  scorned  me  as  a 
Jew,  yet  they  pitied  my  desolation,  and  because  they 
tarried  to  aid  me  by  the  way,  a  share  of  my  evil 
hath  come  upon  them;  moreover,  they  may  contribute 
in  some  sort  to  my  ransom/’ 

“If  thou  meanest  yonder  Saxon  churls,”  said 
Front-de-Bceuf,  “their  ransom  will  depend  upon 
other  terms  than  mine.  Mind  thine  own  concerns, 
Jew,  I  warn  thee,  and  meddle  not  with  those  of 
others.” 

“I  am,  then,”  said  Isaac,  “only  to  be  set  at  liberty, 
together  with  mine  wounded  friend?” 

“Shall  I  twice  recommend  it,”  said  Front-de- 
Bceuf,  “to  a  son  of  Israel,  to  meddle  with  his  own 
concerns,  and  leave  those  of  others  alone? — Since 
thou  hast  made  thy  choice,  it  remains  but  that  thou 
payest  down  thy  ransom,  and  that  at  a  short  day.” 

“Yet  hear  me,”  said  the  Jew — “for  the  sake  of 
that  very  wealth  which  thou  wouldst  obtain  at  the 
expense  of  thy” — Here  he  stopped  short,  afraid  of 
irritating  the  savage  Norman.  But  Front-de-Bceuf 
only  laughed,  and  himself  filled  up  the  blank  at 
which  the  Jew  had  hesitated.  “At  the  expense  of 
my  conscience,  thou  wouldst  say,  Isaac;  speak  it 
out— I  tell  thee,  I  am  reasonable.  I  can  bear  the 
reproaches  of  a  loser,  even  when  the  loser  is  a  Jew. 
Thou  wert  not  so  patient,  Isaac,  when  thou  didst  in¬ 
voke  justice  against  Jacques  Fitzdotterel,  for  calling 
thee  a  usurious  blood-sucker,  when  thy  exactions  had 
devoured  his  patrimony.” 

“I  swear  by  the  Talmud,”  said  the  Jew,  “that 
your  valor  has  been  misled  in  that  matter.  Fitz¬ 
dotterel  drew  his  poniard  upon  me  in  mine  own 
chambers,  because  I  craved  him  for  mine  own  silver. 
The  term  of  payment  was  due  at  the  Passover.” 


IVANHOE 


287 


“I  care  not  what  he  did,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“the  question  is,  when  shall  I  have  mine  own? — 
when  shall  I  have  the  shekels,  Isaac?” 

“Let  my  daughter  Rebecca  go  forth  to  York,”  an¬ 
swered  Isaac,  “with  your  safe  conduct,  noble  knight, 
and  so  soon  as  man  and  horse  can  return,  the  treas¬ 
ure” — Here  he  groaned  deeply,  but  added,  after  the 
pause  of  a  few  seconds, — “The  treasure  shall  be  told 
down  on  this  very  floor.” 

“Thy  daughter!”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  as  if  sur¬ 
prised, — “By  heavens,  Isaac,  I  would  I  had  known 
of  this.  I  deemed  that  yonder  black-browed  girl 
had  been  thy  concubine,  and  I  gave  her  to  be  a 
handmaiden  to  Sir  Brian  de  Bois-Gilbert,  after  the 
fashion  of  patriarchs  and  heroes  of  the  days  of 
old,  who  set  us  in  these  matters  a  wholesome  ex¬ 
ample.” 

The  yell  which  Isaac  raised  at  this  unfeeling  com¬ 
munication  made  the  very  vault  to  ring,  and  as¬ 
tounded  the  two  Saracens  so  much  that  they  let  go 
their  hold  of  the  Jew.  He  availed  himself  of  his  en¬ 
largement  to  throw  himself  on  the  pavement,  and 
clasp  the  knees  of  Front-de-Bceuf. 

“Take  all  that  you  have  asked,”  said  he,  “Sir 
Knight — take  fen  times  more — reduce  me  to  ruin 
and  to  beggary,  if  thou  wilt, — nay,  pierce  me  with 
thy  poniard,  broil  me  on  that  furnace,  but  spare  my 
daughter,  deliver  her  in  safety  and  honor! — As  thou 
art  born  of  woman  spare  the  honor  of  a  helpless 
maiden — She  is  the  image  of  my  deceased  Rachel, 
she  is  the  last  of  six  pledges  of  her  love — Will  you 
deprive  a  widowed  husband  of  his  sole  remaining 
comfort? — Will  you  reduce  a  father  to  wish  that  his 
only  living  child  were  laid  beside  her  dead  mother, 
in  the  tomb  of  our  fathers?” 

“I  would,”  said  the  Norman,  somewhat  relent- 
ingly*  “that  I  had  known  of  this  before*  I  thought 


288 


IVANHOE 


your  race  had  loved  nothing  save  their  money-bags.” 

“Think  not  so  vilely  of  us,  Jews  though  we  be,” 
said  Isaac,  eager  to  improve  the  moment  of  apparent 
sympathy;  “the  hunted  fox,  the  tortured  wild-cat 
loves  its  young — the  despised  and  persecuted  race  of 
Abraham  love  their  children!” 

“Be  it  so,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf ;  “I  will  believe 
it  in  future,  Isaac,  for  thy  very  sake — but  it  aids  us 
not  now,  I  cannot  help  what  has  happened,  or  what 
is  to  follow;  my  word  is  passed  to  my  comrade  in 
arms,  nor  would  I  break  it  for  ten  Jews  and  Jewesses 
to  boot.  Besides,  why  shouldst  thou  think  evil  is  to 
come  to  the  girl,  even  if  she  became  Bois-Gilbert’s 
booty?” 

“There  will,  there  must!”  exclaimed  Isaac,  wring¬ 
ing  his  hands  in  agony;  “when  did  Templars  breathe 
aught  but  cruelty  to  men,  and  dishonor  to  women!” 

“Dog  of  an  infidel,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  and  not  sorry,  perhaps,  to  seize  a  pre¬ 
text  of  working  himself  into  a  passion,  “blaspheme 
not  the  Holy  Order  of  the  Temple  of  Zion,  but  take 
thought  instead  to  pay  me  the  ransom  thou  hast 
promised,  or  woe  betide  thy  Jewish  throat!” 

“Robber  and  villain!”  said  the  Jew,  retorting  the 
insults  of  his  oppressor  with  passion,  which,  how¬ 
ever  impotent,  he  now  found  it  impossible  to  bridle, 
“I  will  pay  thee  nothing — not  one  silver  penny  will 
I  pay  thee,  unless  my  daughter  is  delivered  to  me  in 
safety  and  honor!” 

“Art  thou  in  thy  senses,  Israelite?”  said  the  Nor¬ 
man,  sternly — “has  thy  flesh  and  blood  a  charm 
against  heated  iron  and  scalding  oil?” 

“I  care  not!”  said  the  Jew,  rendered  desperate 
by  paternal  affection;  “do  thy  worst.  My  daughter 
is  my  flesh  and  blood,  dearer  to  me  a  thousand  times 
than  those  limbs  which  thy- cruelty  threatens.  No 
silver  will  I  give  thee,  unless  I  were  to  pour  it  molten 


IVANHOE 


289 


down  thy  avaricious  throat — no,  not  a  silver  penny 
will  I  give  thee,  Nazarene,  were  it  to  save  thee  from 
the  deep  damnation  thy  whole  life  has  merited! 
Take  my  life  if  thou  wilt,  and  say,  the  Jew,  amidst 
his  tortures,  knew  how  to  disappoint  the  Christian. 

“We  shall  see  that,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf ;  “for 
by  the  blessed  root,  which  is  the  abomination  of  thy 
accursed  tribe,  thou  shalt  feel  the  extremities  of  fire 
and  steel!— Strip  him,  slaves,  and  chain  him  down 
upon  the  bars.” 

In  spite  of  the  feeble  struggles  of  the  old  man. 
the  Saracens  had  already  torn  from  him  his  upper 
garment,  and  were  proceeding  totally  to  disrobe 
him,  when  the  sound  of  a  bugle,  twice  winded  with¬ 
out  the  castle,  penetrated  even  to  the  recesses  of  the 
dungeon,  and  immediately  after  loud  voices  were 
heard  calling  for  Sir  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf.  Un¬ 
willing  to  be  found  engaged  in  his  hellish  occupa¬ 
tion,  the  savage  Baron  gave  the  slaves  a  signal  to 
restore  Isaac’s  garments,  and,  quitting  the i  dungeon 
with  his  attendants,  he  left  the  Jew  to  thank  Go 
for  his  own  deliverance,  or  lament  over  his  daugh¬ 
ter’s  captivity  and  probable  fate,  as  his  personal  or 
parental  feelings  might  prove  strongest. 


Question  :  Why  do  you  have  greater  respect  for  Isaac 
here  than  you  did  earlier? 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 

I’ll  woo  you,  like  a  soldier,  at  arms’  end, 

And  love  you  ’gainst  the  nature  of  love,  force  you. 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

The  apartment  to  which  the  Lady  Rowena  had 
been  introduced  was  fitted  up  with  some  rude  at¬ 
tempts  at  ornament  and  magnificence,  and  her  being 
placed  there  might  be  considered  as  a  peculiar  mark 
of  respect  not  offered  to  the  other  prisoners.  But  the 
wife  of  Front-de-Boeuf,  for  whom  it  had  been  origi¬ 
nally  furnished,  was  long  dead,  and  decay  and  ne¬ 
glect  had  impaired  the  few  ornaments  with  which 
her  taste  had  adorned  it.  The  tapestry  hung  down 
from  the  walls  in  many  places,  and  in  others  was 
tarnished  and  faded  under  the  effects  of  the  sun, 
or  tattered  and  decayed  by  age.  Desolate,  however, 
as  it  was,  this  was  the  apartment  of  the  castle  which 
had  been  judged  most  fitting  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  Saxon  heiress;  and  here  she  was  left  to  medi¬ 
tate  upon  her  fate,  until  the  actors  in  this  nefarious 
drama  had  arranged  the  several  parts  which  each 
of  them  was  to  perform.  This  had  been  settled  in 
a  council  held  by  Front-de-Boeuf,  De  Bracy,  and 
the  Templar,  in  which,  after  a  long  and  warm  debate 
concerning  the  several  advantages  which  each  insis¬ 
ted  upon  deriving  from  his  peculiar  share  in  this 
audacious  enterprise,  they  had  at  length  determined 
the  fate  of  their  unhappy  prisoners. 

It  was  about  the  hour  of  noon,  therefore,  when 
De  Bracy,  for  whose  advantage  the  expedition  had 
been  first  planned,  appeared  to  prosecute  his  views 

Question  :  Why  did  Scott  Interrupt  at  this  moment  in 
the  torture  of  Isaac? 


IVANHOE 


291 


upon  the  hand  and  possessions  of  the  Lady  Rowena. 
The  interval  had  not  entirely  been  bestowed  in 
holding  council  with  his  confederates,  for  De  Bracy 
had  found  leisure  to  decorate  his  person  with  all  the 
foppery  of  the  times.  His  green  cassock  and  vizard 
were  now  flung  aside.  His  long  luxuriant  hair 
was  trained  to  flow  in  quaint  tresses  down  his 
richly  furred  cloak.  His  beard  was  closely  shaved, 
his  doublet  reached  to  the  middle  of  his  leg,  and  the 
girdle  which  secured  it,  and  at  the  same  time  sup¬ 
ported  his  ponderous  sword,  was  embroidered  and 
embossed  with  gold  work.  We  have  already  noticed 
the  extravagant  fashion  of  the  shoes  at  this  period, 
and  the  points  of  Maurice  De  Bracy’s  might  have 
challenged  the  prize  of  extravagance  with  the  gay¬ 
est,  being  turned  up  and  twisteid  like  the  horns  of  a 
ram.  Such  was  the  dress  of  a  gallant  of  the  period : 

I  and,  in  the  present  instance,  that  effect  was  aided 
by  the  handsome  person  and  good  demeanor  of  the 
wearer,  whose  manners  partook  alike  of  the  grace  of 
a  courtier,  and  the  frankness  of  a  soldier. 

He  saluted  Rowena  by  doffing  his  velvet  bonnet, 
garnished  with  a  golden  brooch,  representing  St. 
Michael  trampling  down  the  Prince  of  Evil.  With 
this,  he  gently  motioned  the  lady  to  a  seat;  and,  as 
she  still  retained  her  standing  posture,  the  knight 
!  ungloved  his  right  hand,  and  motioned  to  conduct 
j  her  thither.  But  Rowena  declined,  by  her  gesture, 
the  proffered  compliment,  and  replied,  “If  I  be  in 
the  presence  of  my  jailer,  Sir  Knight— nor  will  cir¬ 
cumstances  allow  me  to  think  otherwise— it  best  be- 
j  comes  his  prisoner  to  remain  standing  till  she  learns 

i  her  doom.”  _  _  i( 

“Alas!  fair  Rowena,”  returned  De  Bracy you 
are  in  the  presence  of  your  captive,  not  your  jailer; 
and  it  is  from  your  fair  eyes  that  De  Bracy  must  re¬ 
ceive  that  doom  which  you  fondly  expect  from  him. 


292 


IVANIIOE 


“I  know  you  not,  sir,”  said  the  lady,  drawing 
herself  up  with  all  the  pride  of  offended  rank  and 
beauty;  ‘‘I  know  you  not — and  the  insolent  familiar¬ 
ity  with  which  you  apply  to  me  the  jargon  of  a  trou¬ 
badour  forms  no  apology  for  the  violence  of  a  robber.” 

“To  thyself,  fair  maid,”  answered  De  Bracy,  in 
his  former  tone — “to  thine  own  charms  be  ascribed 
whate’er  I  have  done  which  passed  the  respect  due 
to  her,  whom  I  have  chosen  queen  of  my  heart,  and 
loadstar  of  my  eyes.” 

“I  repeat  to  you,  Sir  Knight,  that  I  know  you  not, 
and  that  no  man  wearing  chain  and  spurs  ought  thus 
to  intrude  himself  upon  the  presence  of  an  unpro¬ 
tected  lady.” 

“That  I  am  unknown  to  you,”  said  De  Bracy,  “is 
indeed  my  misfortune;  yet  let  me  hope  that  De 
B  racy’s  name  has  not  been  always  unspoken,  when 
minstrels  or  heralds  have  praised  deeds  of  chivalry, 
whether  in  the  lists  or  in  the  battle-field.” 

“To  heralds  and  to  minstrels,  then,  leave  thy 
praise,  Sir  Knight,”  replied  Rowena,  “more  suiting 
for  their  mouths  than  for  thine  own;  and  tell  me 
which  of  them  shall  record  in  song,  or  in  book  of 
tourney,  the  memorable  conquest  of  this  night,  a 
conquest  obtained  over  an  old  man,  followed  by  a 
few  timid  hinds;  and  its  booty,  an  unfortunate 
maiden,  transported  against  her  will  to  the  castle  of 
a  robber?” 

“You  are  unjust,  Lady  Rowena,”  said  the  knight, 
biting  his  lips  in  some  confusion,  and  speaking  in  a 
tone  more  natural  to  him  than  that  of  aifected  gal- 
antry,  which  he  had  at  first  adopted;  “yourself  free 
from  passion,  you  can  allow  no  excuse  for  the  frenzy 
rj£  another,  although  caused  by  your  own  beauty.” 

“I  pray  you,  Sir  Knight,”  said  Rowena,  “to  cease 
a  language  so  commonly  used  by  strolling  minstrels, 
that  it  becomes  not  the  mouth  of  knights  or  nobles. 


Ivan  hoe 


293 


Certes,  you  constrain  me  to  sit  down,  since  you  en¬ 
ter  upon  such  commonplace  terms,  of  which  each  vile 
crowder'  hath  a  stock  that  might  last  from  hence  to 
Christmas.” 

“Proud  damsel,”  said  De  Bracy,  incensed  at  find¬ 
ing  his  gallant  style  procured  him  nothing  but  con¬ 
tempt — “proud  damsel,  thou  shalt  be  as  proudly  en¬ 
countered.  Know  then,  that  I  have  supported  my 
pretensions  to  your  hand  in  the  way  that  best  suited 
thy  character.  It  is  meeter  for  thy  humor  to  be 
wooed  with  bow  and  bill,  than  in  set  terms,  and  in 
courtly  language.” 

“Courtesy  of  tongue,”  said  Rowena,  “when  it  is 
used  to  veil  churlishness  of  deed,  is  but  a  knight’s 
girdle  around  the  breast  of  a  base  clown.  I  wonder 
not  that  the  restraint  appears  to  gall  you — more  it 
were  for  your  honor  to  have  retained  the  dress  and 
I  language  of  an  outlaw,  than  to  veil  the  deeds  of  one 
under  an  affectation  of  gentle  language  and  demean¬ 
or.” 

“You  counsel  well,  lady,”  said  the  Norman;  “and 
in  the  bold  language  which  best  justifies  bold  action, 
I  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  never  leave  this  castle,  or  thou 
shalt  leave  it  as  Maurice  de  Bracy’s  wife.  I  am  not 
!  wont  to  be  baffled  in  my  enterprises,  nor  needs  a  Nor- 
t  man  noble  scrupulously  to  vindicate  his  conduct  to 
the  Saxon  maiden  whom  he  distinguishes  by  the  offer 
!  of  his  hand.  Thou  art  proud,  Rowena,  and  thou  art 
the  fitter  to  be  my  wife.  By  what  other  means  couldst 
thou  be  raised  to  high  honor  and  to  princely  place, 
saving  by  my  “alliance?  How  else  wouldst  thou  es- 
1  cape  from  the  mean  precincts  of  a  country  grange, 

|  where  Saxons  herd  with  the  swine  which  form  their 
wealth,  to  take  thy  seat,  honored  as  thou  shouldst  be, 

aPlayer  upon  the  “crowd,”  an  ancient  instrument  .much 

like  a  violin. 


294 


IVANHOE 


and  shalt  be,  amid  all  in  England  that  is  distin¬ 
guished  by  beauty,  or  dignified  by  power?” 

“Sir  Knight,”  replied  Rowena,  “the  grange  which 
you  contemn  hath  been  my  shelter  from  infancy;  and, 
trust  me,  when  I  leave  it — should  that  day  ever  ar¬ 
rive — it  shall  be  with  one  who  has  not  learnt  to 
despise  the  dwelling  and  manners  in  which  I  have 
been  brought  up.” 

“I  guess  your  meaning,  lady,”  said  De  Bracy, 
“though  you  may  think  it  lies  too  obscure  for  my 
apprehension.  But  dream  not,  that  Richard  Coeur- 
de-Lion  will  ever  resume  his  throne,  far  less  that 
Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe,  his  minion,  will  ever  lead  thee  to 
his  footstool,  to  be  there  welcomed  as  the  bride  of  a 
favorite.  Another  suitor  might  feel  jealousy  while 
he  touched  this  string;  but  my  firm  purpose  cannot 
be  changed  by  a  passion  so  childish  and  so  hopeless. 
Know,  lady,  that  this  rival  is  in  my  power,  and  that 
it  rests  but  with  me  to  betray  the  secret  of  his  being 
within  the  castle  to  Front-de-Boeuf,  whose  jealousy 
will  be  more  fatal  than  mine.” 

“Wilfred  here?”  said  Rowena,  in  disdain;  “that  is 
as  true  as  that  Front-de-Boeuf  is  his  rival.” 

De  Bracy  looked  at  her  steadily  for  an  instant. 
“Wert  thou  really  ignorant  of  this?”  said  he;  “didst 
thou  not  know  that  Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe  traveled  in 
the  litter  of  the  Jew? — a  meet  conveyance  for  the 
crusader,  whose  doughty  arm  was  to  reconquer  the 
Holy  Sepulcher!”  And  he  laughed  scornfully. 

“And  if  he  is  here,”  said  Rowena,  compelling  her¬ 
self  to  a  tone  of  indifference,  though  trembling  with 
an  agony  of  apprehension  which  she  could  not  sup¬ 
press,  “in  what  is  he  the  rival  of  Front-de-Boeuf?  or 
what  has  he  to  fear  beyond  a  short  imprisonment, 
and  an  honorable  ransom,  according  to  the  use  of 
chivalry?” 

“Rowena,”  said  De  Bracy,  “art  thou,  too,  deceived 


IVANHOE 


295 


by  the  common  error  of  thy  sex,  who  think  there 
can  be  no  rivalry  but  that  respecting  their  own 
charms?  Knowest  thou  not  there  is  a  jealousy  of 
ambition  and  of  wealth,  as  well  as  of  love;  and  that 
this  our  host,  Front-de-Boeuf,  will  push  from  his 
road  him  who  opposes  his  claim  to  the  fair  barony 
of  Ivanhoe,  as  readily,  eagerly,  and  unscrupulously, 

;  as  if  he  were  preferred  to  him  by  some  blue-eyed 
damsel?  But  smile  on  my  suit,  lady,  and  the  wounded 
!  champion  shall  have  nothing  to  fear  from  Front-de- 
Boeuf,  whom  else  thou  mayst  mourn  for  as  in  the 
hands  of  one  who  has  never  shown  compassion.” 

“Save  him,  for  the  love  of  Heaven!”  said  Rowena, 
her  firmness  giving  way  under  terror  for  her  lover’s 
impending  fate. 

“I  can — I  will — it  is  my  purpose,”  said  De  Bracy; 
“for,  when  Rowena  consents  to  be  the  bride  of  De 
Bracy,  who  is  it  shall  dare  to  put  forth  a  violent 
hand  upon  her  kinsman — the  son  of  her  guardian — 
the  companion  of  her  youth?  But  it  is  thy  love  must 
buy  his  protection.  I  am  not  romantic  fool  enough  to 
further  the  fortune,  or  avert  the  fate,  of  one  who 
is  likely  to  be  a  successful  obstacle  between  me  and 
my  wishes.  Use  thine  influence  with  me  in  his  be¬ 
half,  and  he  is  safe, — refuse  to  employ  it,  Wilfred 
dies,  and  thou  thyself  art  not  the  nearer  to  freedom.” 

“Thy  language,”  answered  Rowena,  “hath  in  its 
indifferent  bluntness  something  which  cannot  be  recon¬ 
ciled  with  the  horrors  it  seems  to  express.  I  be¬ 
lieve  not  that  thy  purpose  is  so  wicked,  or  thy  pow¬ 
er  so  great.” 

“Flatter  thyself,  then,  with  that  belief,”  said  De 
Bracy,  “until  time  shall  prove  it  false.  Thy  lover 
lies  wounded  in  this  castle — thy  preferred  lover.  He 


Question:  What  made  Rowena  lose  her  courage  when 

she  had  been  brave  at  the  entrance  of  De  Bracy  ? 


296 


IVANHOE 


is  a  bar  betwixt  Front-de-Boeuf  and  that  which  Front- 
de-Boeuf  loves  better  than  either  ambition  or  beauty. 
What  will  it  cost  beyond  the  blow  of  a  poniard,  or 
the  thrust  of  a  javelin,  to  silence  his  opposition  for¬ 
ever?  Nay,  were  Front-de-Bceuf  afraid  to  justify 
a  deed  so  open,  let  the  leech  but  give  his  patient 
a  wrong  draught — let  the  chamberlain,  or  the  nurse 
who  tends  him,  but  pluck  the  pillow  from  his  head, 
and  Wilfred,  in  his  present  condition,  is  sped  with¬ 
out  the  effusion  of  blood.  Cedric  also — ” 

“And  Cedric  also,”  said  Rowena,  repeating  his 
words;  “my  noble — my  generous  guardian!  I  de¬ 
served  the  evil  I  have  encountered,  for  forgetting  his 
fate  even  in  that  of  his  son!” 

“Cedric’s  fate  also  depends  upon  thy  determina¬ 
tion,”  said  De  Bracy;  “and  I  leave  thee  to  form  it.” 

Hitherto,  Rowena  had  sustained  her  part  in  this 
trying  scene  with  undismayed  courage,  but  it  was 
because  she  had  not  considered  the  danger  as  serious 
and  imminent.  Her  disposition  was  naturally  that 
which  physiognomists  consider  as  proper  to  fair  com¬ 
plexions,  mild,,  timid,  and  gentle;  but  it  had  been 
tempered,  and,  as  it  were,  hardened,  by  the  circum¬ 
stances  of  her  education.  Accustomed  to  see  the  will 
of  all,  even  of  Cedric  himself,  (sufficiently  arbitrary 
with  others,)  give  way  before  her  wishes,  she  had 
acquired  that  sort  of  courage  and  self-confidence 
which  arises  from  the  habitual  and  constant  defer¬ 
ence  of  the  circle  in  which  we  move.  She  could  scarce 
conceive  the  possibility  of  her  will  being  opposed,  far 
less  that  of  its  being  treated  with  total  disregard. 

Her  haughtiness  and  habit  of  domination  was, 
therefore,  a  fictitious  character,  induced  over  that 
which  was  natural  to  her,  and  it  deserted  her  when 
her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  extent  of  her  own  danger, 
as  well  as  that  of  her  lover  and  her  guardian;  and 
when  she  found  her  will,  the  slightest  expression  of 


IVANHOE 


297 


which  was  wont  to  command  respect  and  attention, 
now  placed  in  opposition  to  that  of  a  man  of  a  strong, 
fierce,  and  determined  mind,  who  possessed  the  ad¬ 
vantage  over  her,  and  was  resolved  to  use  it,  she 
quailed  before  him. 

After  casting  her  eyes  around,  as  if  to  look  for  the 
aid  which  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  after  a  few 
broken  interjections,  she  raised  her  hands  to  heaven, 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  uncontrolled  vexation 
and  sorrow.  It  was  impossible  to  see  so  beautiful 
a  creature  in  such  extremity  without  feeling  for  her, 
and  De  Bracy  was  not  unmoved,  though  he  was  yet 
more  embarrassed  than  touched.  He  had,  in  truth, 
gone  too  far  to  recede;  and  yet,  in  Rowena’s  present 
condition,  she  could  not  be  acted  on  either  by  argu¬ 
ment  or  threats.  He  paced  the  apartment  to  and 
fro,  now  vainly  exhorting  the  terrified  maiden  to 
compose  herself,  now  hesitating  concerning  his  own 
line  of  conduct. 

“If,”  thought  he,  “I  should  be  moved  by  the  tears 
and  sorrow  of  this  disconsolate  damsel,  what  should 
I  reap  but  the  loss  of  those  fair  hopes  for  which  I 
have  encountered  so  much  risk,  and  the  ridicule  of 
Prince  John  and  his  jovial  comrades?  And  yet,”  he 
said  to  himself,  “I  feel  myself  ill  framed  for  the  part 
which  I  am  playing.  I  cannot  look  on  so  fair  a  face 
while  it  is  disturbed  with  agony,  or  on  those  eyes 
when  they  are  drowned  in  tears.  I  would  she  had  re¬ 
tained  her  original  haughtiness  of  disposition,  or  that 
I  had  a  larger  share  of  Front-de-Bceuf’s  thrice  tem¬ 
pered  hardness  of  heart!” 

Agitated  by  these  thoughts,  he  could  only  bid  the 
unfortunate  Rowena  be  comforted,  and  assure  her, 
that  as  yet  she  had  no  reason  for  the  excess  of  de¬ 
spair  to  which  she  was  now  giving  way.  But  in  this 
task  of  consolation  De  Bracy  was  interrupted  by 
the  horn,  “hoarse-winded  blowing  far  and  keen,” 


298 


IVANHOE 


which  had  at  the  same  time  alarmed  the  other  in¬ 
mates  of  the  castle,  and  interrupted  their  several 
plans  of  avarice  and  of  license.  Of  them  all,  perhaps, 
De  Bracy  least  regretted  the  interruption;  for  his 
conference  with  the  Lady  Rowena  had  arrived  at  a 
point  where  he  found  it  equally  difficult  to  prosecute 
or  to  resign  his  enterprise. 

And  here  we  cannot  but  think  it  necessary  to  offer 
some  better  proof  than  the  incidents  of  an  idle  tale, 
to  vindicate  the  melancholy  representation  of  man¬ 
ners  which  has  been  just  laid  before  the  reader.  It 
is  grievous  to  think  that  those  valiant  barons,  to 
whose  stand  against  the  crown  the  liberties  of  Eng¬ 
land  were  indebted  for  their  existence,  should  them-' 
selves  have  been  such  dreadful  oppressors,  and  ca¬ 
pable  of  excesses  contrary  not  only  to  the  laws  of  Eng¬ 
land,  but  to  those  of  nature  and  humanity.  But, 
alas!  we  have  only  to  extract  from  the  industrious 
Henry  one  of  those  numerous  passages  which  he  has 
collected  from  contemporary  historians,  to  prove  that 
fiction  itself  can  hardly  reach  the  dark  reality  of  the 
horrors  of  the  period. 

The  description  given  by  the  author  of  the  Saxon 
Chronicle  of  the  cruelties  exercised  in  the  reign  of 
King  Stephen  by  the  great  barons  and  lords  of  castles, 
who  were  all  Normans,  affords  a  strong  proof  of  the 
excesses  of  which  they  were  capable  when  their  pas¬ 
sions  were  inflamed.  “They  grievously  oppressed  the 
poor  people  by  building  castles;  and  when  they  were 
built,  they  filled  them  with  wicked  men,  or  rather 
devils,  who  seized  both  men  and  women  who  they 
imagined  had  any  money,  threw  them  into  prison, 
and  put  them  to  more  cruel  tortures  than  the  martyrs 
ever  endured.  They  suffocated  some  in  mud,  and  sus- 


Question:  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  blowing  of  the 

horn? 


IVANHOE 


299 


I  pended  others  by  the  feet,  or  the  head,  or  the  thumbs, 
j  kindling  fires  below  them.  They  squeezed  the  heads  of 
i  some  with  knotted  cords  till  they  pierced  their  brains, 

;  while  they  threw  others  into  dungeons  swarming  with 
serpents,  snakes,  and  toads.”  But  it  would  be  cruel 
to  put  the  reader  to  the  pain  of  perusing  the  remain¬ 
der  of  this  description. 

As  another  instance  of  these  bitter  fruits  of  con¬ 
quest,  and  perhaps  the  strongest  that  can  be  quoted, 
we  may  mention  that  the  Empress  Matilda,  though 
a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Scotland,  and  afterwards 
both  Queen  of  England  and  Empress  of  Germany, 
the  daughter,  the  wife,  and  the  mother  of  monarchs, 
was  obliged,  during  her  early  residence  for  education 
in  England,  to  assume  the  veil  of  a  nun,  as  the  only 
means  of  escaping  the  licentious  pursuit  of  the  Nor¬ 
man  nobles.  This  excuse  she  stated  before  a  great 
council  of  the  clergy  of  England,  as  the  sole  reason 
for  her  having  taken  the  religious  habit.  The  as¬ 
sembled  clergy  admitted  the  validity  of  the  plea,  and 
the  notoriety  of  the  circumstances  upon  which  it  was 
founded,  giving  thus  an  indubitable  and  most  re¬ 
markable  testimony  to  the  existence  of  that  disgrace¬ 
ful  license  by  which  that  age  was  stained.  It  was  a 
matter  of  public  knowledge,  they  said,  that  after  the 
conquest  of  King  William,  his  Norman  followers, 
elated  by  so  great  a  victory,  acknowledged  no  law 
but  their  own  wicked  pleasure,  and  not  only  despoiled 
the  conquered  Saxons  of  their  lands  and  their  goods, 
but  invaded  the  honor  of  their  wives  and  of  their 
daughters  with  the  most  unbridled  license;  and 
hence  it  was  then  common  for  matrons  and  maidens 
of  noble  families  to  assume  the  veil,  and  take  shelter 
in  convents,,  not  as  called  thither  by  the  vocation  of 
God,  but  solely  to  preserve  their  honor  from  the  un¬ 
bridled  wickedness  of  man. 

Such  and  so  licentious  were  the  times,  as  an- 


300 


Ivan  hoe 


nounced  by  the  public  declaration  of  the  assembled 
clergy,  recorded  by  Eadmer ;  and  we  need  add  nothing 
more  to  vindicate  the  probability  of  the  scenes  which 
we  have  detailed,  and  are  about  to  detail,  upon  the 
more  apocryphal  authority  of  the  Wardour  MS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I’ll  woo  her  as  the  lion  woos  his  bride. 

Douglas. 

While  the  scenes  we  have  described  were  passing 
in  other  parts  of  the  castle,  the  Jewess  Rebecca 
awaited  her  fate  in  a  distant  and  sequestered  turret. 
Hither  she  had  been  led  by  two  of  her  disguised  rav- 
ishers,  and  on  being  thrust  into  the  little  cell,  she 
found  herself  in  the  presence  of  an  old  sibyl,  who 
kept  murmuring  to  herself  a  Saxon  rhyme,  as  if  to 
beat  time  to  the  revolving  dance  which  her  spindle 
was  performing  upon  the  floor.  The  hag  raised  her 
head  as  Rebecca  entered,  and  scowled  at  the  fair 
Jewess  with  the  malignant  envy  with  which  old  age 
and  ugliness,  when  united  with  evil  conditions,  are 
apt  to  look  upon  youth  and  beauty. 

“Thou  must  up  and  away,  old  house-cricket.”  said 
one  of  the  men;  “our  noble  master  commands  it — 

|  Thou  must  e’en  leave  this  chamber  to  a  fairer  guest.” 

“Ay,”  grumbled  the  hag,  “even  thus  is  service  re¬ 
quitted.  I  have  known  when  my  bare  word  would 
have  cast  the  best  man-at-arms  among  ye  out  of  sad- 
|  die  and  out  of  service ;  and  now  must  I  up  and  away 
at  the  command  of  every  groom  such  as  thou.” 

“Good  Dame  Urfried,”  said  the  other  man,  “stand 
not  to  reason  on  it,  but  up  and  away.  Lords’  hests 
must  be  listened  to  with  a  quick  ear.  Thou  hast  had 
thy  day,  old  dame,  but  thy  sun  has  long  been  set. 
Thou  art  now  the  very  emblem  of  an  old  war-horse 
turned  out  on  the  barren  heath — thou  hast  had  thy 
paces  in  thy  time,  but  now  a  broken  amble  is  the  best 
of  them — Come,  amble  off  with  thee.” 

“Ill  omens  dog  ye  both!”  said  the  old  woman;  “and 
a  kennel  be  your  burying-place !  May  the  evil  demon 
!  2ernebock  tear  me  limb  from  limb,  if  I  leave  my 


302 


IVANHOE 


own  cell  ere  I  have  spun  out  the  hemp  on  my  distaff!” 

“Answer  it  to  our  lord,  then,  old  house-fiend,”  said 
the  man,  and  retired,  leaving  Rebecca  in  company 
with  the  old  woman,  upon  whose  presence  she  had 
been  thus  unwillingly  forced. 

“What  devil’s  deed  have  they  now  in  the  wind?”  j 
said  the  bid  hag,  murmuring  to  herself,  yet  from  time 
to  time  casting  a  sidelong  and  malignant  glance  at 
Rebecca;  “but  it  is  easy  to  guess — Bright  eyes,  black 
locks,  and  a  skin  like  paper,  ere  the  priest  stains  it 
with  his  black  unguent — Ay,  it  is  easy  to  guess  why 
they  send  her  to  this  lone  turret,  whence  a  shriek 
could  no  more  be  heard  than  at  the  depth  of  five  hun¬ 
dred  fathoms  beneath  the  earth. — Thou  wilt  have  owls 
for  thy  neighbor,  fair  one;  and  their  screams  will  be  E 
heard  as  far,  and  as  much  regarded,  as  thine  own.  ! 
Outlandish,  too,”  she  said,  marking  the  dress  and 
turban  of  Rebecca — “What  country  art  thou  of? — a 
Saracen?  or  an  Egyptian — Why  dost  not  answer? —  1 
thou  canst  weep,,  canst  thou  not  speak?” 

“Be  not  angry,  good  mother,”  said  Rebecca. 

“Thou  needst  say  no  more,”  replied  Urfried;  “men 
know  a  fox  by  the  train  and  a  Jewess  by  her  tongue.” 

“For  the  sake  of  mercy,”  said  Rebecca,  “tell  me  | 
what  I  am  to  expect  as  the  conclusion  of  the  violence  ! 
which  hath  dragged  me  hither!  Is  it  my  life  they 
seek,  to  atone  for  my  religion?  I  will  lay  it  down 
cheerfully.” 

“Thy  life,  minion!”  answered  the  sibyl;  “what 
would  taking  thy  life  pleasure  them? — Trust  me,  thy 
life  is  in  no  peril.  Such  usage  shalt  thou  have  as 
was  once  thought  good  enough  for  a  noble  Saxon 
maiden.  And  shall  a  Jewess,  like  thee,  repine  be¬ 
cause  she  hath  no  better?  Look  at  me — I  was  as 
young  and  twice  as  fair  as  thou,  when  Front-de-Boeuf, 
father  of  this  Reginald,  and  his  Normans,  stormed 
this  castle.  My  father  and  his  seven  sons  defended 


IVANHOE 


303 


heir  inheritance  from  story  to  story,  from  chamber 
P  chamber — There  was  not  a  room,  not  a  step  of  the 
fairs,  that  was  not  slippery  with  their  blood.  They 
ied — they  died  every  man ;  and  ere  their  bodies  were 
old,  and  ere  their  blood  was  dried,  I  had  become  the 
rey  and  the  scorn  of  the  conqueror!” 

“Is  there  no  help? — Are  there  no  means  of  escape?” 
aid  Rebecca — “Richly,  richly  would  I  requite  thine 
lid.” 

“Think  not  of  it,”  said  the  hag;  “from  hence  there 
5  no  escape  but  through  the  gates  of  death;  and  it 
5  late,  late,”  she  added,  shaking  her  gray  head,  “ere 
hese  open  to  us — Yet  it  is  comfort  to  think  that  we 
lave  behind  us  on  earth  those  who  shall  be  wretched 
s  ourselves.  Fare  thee  well,  Jewess! — Jew  or  Gen- 
ile,  thy  fate  would  be  the  same;  for  thou  hast  to  do 
/ith  them  that  have  neither  scruple  nor  pity.  Fare 
hee  well,  I  say.  My  thread  is  spun  out — thy  task 
5  yet  to  begin.” 

“Stay!  stay!  for  Heaven’s  sake!”  said  Rebecca; 
stay,  though  it  be  to  curse  and  to  revile  me — thy 
resence  is  yet  some  protection.” 

“The  presence  of  the  mother  of  God  were  no  pro- 
ection,”  answered  the  old  woman.  “There  she 
itands,”  pointing  to  a  rude  image  of  the  Virgin 
Jary,  “see  if  she  can  avert  the  fate  that  awaits  thee.” 

She  left  the  room  as  she  spoke,  her  features  writhed 
nfo  a  sort  of  sneering  laugh,  which  made  them  seem 
wen  more  hideous  than  their  habitual  frown.  She 
3cked  the  door  behind  her,  and  Rebecca  might  hear 
fer  curse  every  step  for  its  steepness,  as  slowly  and 
jrith  difficulty  she  descended  the  turret-stair. 

Rebecca  was  now  to  expect  a  fate  even  more  dread- 
ul  than  that  of  Rowena;  for  what  probability  was 
here  that  either  softness  or  ceremony  would  be  used 
owards  one  of  her  oppressed  race,  whatever  shadow 
if  those  might  be  preserved  towards  a  Saxon  heiress? 


304 


Ivan  hoe 


Yet  had  the  Jewess  this  advantage,  that  she  was 
better  prepared  by  habits  of  thought,  and  by  natural 
strength  of  mind,  to  encounter  the  dangers  to  which 
she  was  exposed.  Of  a  strong  and  observing  charac¬ 
ter,  even  from  her  earliest  years,  the  pomp  and  wealth 
which  her  father  displayed  within  his  walls,  or  which 
she  witnessed  in  the  houses  of  other  wealthy  He¬ 
brews,  had  not  been  able  to  blind  her  to  the  precari¬ 
ous  circumstances  under  which  they  were  enjoyed. 
Like  Damocles  at  his  celebrated  banquet,  Rebecca 
perpetually  beheld,  amid  that  georgeous  display,  the 
sword  which  was  suspended  over  the  heads  of  her 
people  by  a  single  hair.  These  reflections  had  tamed 
and  brought  down  to  a  pitch  of  sounder  judgment  a 
temper,  which  under  other  circumstances,  might 
have  waxed  haughty,  supercilious,  and  obstinate. 

From  her  father’s  examples  and  injunctions,  Re¬ 
becca  had  learnt  to  bear  herself  courteously  towards 
all  who  approached  her.  She  could  not  indeed  imi¬ 
tate  his  excess  of  subservience,  because  she  was  a 
stranger  to  the  meanness  of  mind,  and  to  the  constant 
state  of  timid  apprehension,  by  which  it  was  dictated  ; 
but  she  bore  herself  with  a  proud  humility,  as  if  sub¬ 
mitting  to  the  evil  circumstances  in  which  she  was 
placed  as  the  daughter  of  a  despised  race,  while  she 
felt  in  her  mind  the  consciousness  that  she  was  en¬ 
titled  to  hold  a  higher  rank  from  her  merit,  than  the 
arbitrary  despotism  of  religious  prejudice  permitted 
her  to  aspire  to. 

Thus  prepared  to  expect  adverse  circumstances, 
she  had  acquired  the  firmness  necessary  for  acting 
under  them.  Her  present  situation  required  all  her 


aSee  Greek  mythology.  Dionysius  I,  of  Syracuse  placec 
Damocles  at  a  banquet  beneath  a  sword  suspended  by  i 
hair,  because  Damocles  had  praised  the  happiness  of  kings 


IVANHOE 


305 


presence  of  mind,  and  she  summoned  it  up  accord¬ 
ingly. 

I  Her  first  care  was  to  inspect  the  apartment;  but 
;it  afforded  few  hopes  either  of  escape  or  protection. 
It  contained  neither  secret  passage  nor  trap-door,  and 
unless  where  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered 
joined  the  main  building,  seemed  to  be  circumscribed 
by  the  round  exterior  wall  of  the  turret.  The  door 
had  no  inside  bolt  or  bar.  The  single  window  opened 
upon  an  embattled  space  surmounting  the  turret, 
which  gave  Rebecca,  at  first  sight,  some  hopes  of  es¬ 
caping;  but  she  soon  found  it  had  no  communication 
with  any  other  part  of  the  battlements,,  being  an  iso¬ 
lated  bartizan,  or  balcony,,  secured,  as  usual,  by 
a  parapet,  with  embrasures,  at  which  a  few  archers 
imight  be  stationed  for  defending  the  turret,  and 
flanking  with  their  shot  the  wall  of  the  castle  on  that 
side. 

There  was  therefore  no  hope  but  in  passive  forti¬ 
tude,  and  in  that  strong  reliance  on  Heaven  natural 
to  great  and  generous  characters.  Rebecca,  however 
erroneously  taught  to  interpret  the  promises  of 
Scripture  to  the  chosen  people  of  Heaven,  did  not 
err  in  supposing  the  present  to  be  their  hour  of  trial, 
or  in  trusting  that  the  children  of  Zion  would  be 
one  day  called  in  with  the  fullness  of  the  Gentiles. 
In  the  meanwhile,  all  around  her  showed  that  their 
(present  state  was  that  of  punishment  and  probation, 
and  that  it  was  their  especial  duty  to  suffer  without 
sinning.  Thus  prepared  to  consider  herself  as  the 
victim  of  misfortune,  Rebecca  had  early  reflected 
upon  her  own  state,  and  schooled  her  mind  to  meet 
the  dangers  which  she  had  probably  to  encounter. 

The  prisoner  trembled,,  however,  and  changed 
color,  when  a  step  was  heard  on  the  stair,  and  the 
door  of  the  turret-chamber  slowly  opened,  and  a  tall 
man,  dressed  as  one  of  those  banditti  to  whom  they 


306 


IVANHOE 


owed  their  misfortune,  slowly  entered,  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him;  his  cap,  pulled  down  upon  his 
brows,  concealed  the  upper  part  of  his  face,  and  he 
held  his  mantle  in  such  a  manner  as  to  muffle  the  rest. 
In  this  guise,  as  if  prepared  for  the  execution  of  some 
deed,  at  the  thought  of  which  he  was  himself 
ashamed,  he  stood  before  the  affrighted  prisoner;  yet, 
ruffian  as  his  dress  bespoke  him,  he  seemed  at  a  loss 
to  express  what  purpose  had  brought  him  thither,  so 
that  Rebecca,  making  an  effort  upon  herself,  had  time 
to  anticipate  his  explanation.  She  had  already  un¬ 
clasped  two  costly  bracelets  and  a  collar,  which  she 
hastened  to  proffer  to  the  supposed  outlaw,  con¬ 
cluding  naturally  that  to  gratify  his  avarice  was  to 
bespeak  his  favor. 

“Take  these,”  she  said,  “good  friend,  and  for 
God’s  sake  be  merciful  to  me  and  my  aged  father! 
These  ornaments  are  of  value,  yet  are  they  trifling 
to  what  he  would  bestow  to  obtain  our  dismissal  from 
this  castle,  free  and  uninjured.” 

“Fair  flower  of  Palestine,”  replied  the  outlaw, 
“these  pearls  are  orient,  but  they  yield  in  whiteness 
to  your  teeth;  the  diamonds  are  brilliant,  but  they 
cannot  match  your  eyes;  and  ever  since  I  have  taken 
up  this  wild  trade,  I  have  made  a  vow  to  prefer 
beauty  to  wealth.” 

“Do  not  do  yourself  such  wrong,”  said  Rebecca, 
“take  ransom,  and  have  mercy! — God  will  purchase 
your  pleasure, — to  misuse  us,  could  only  bring  thee 
remorse.  My  father  will  willingly  satiate  thy  utmost 
wishes ;  and  if  thou  wilt  act  wisely,  thou  mayst  pur¬ 
chase  with  our  spoils  thy  restoration  to  civil  society 
— mayst  obtain  pardon  for  past  errors,  and  be  placed 
beyond  the  necessity  of  committing  more.” 

“It  is  well  spoken,”  replied  the  outlaw  in  French, 
finding  it  difficult  probably  to  sustain,  in  Saxon,  a 
conversation  which  Rebecca  had  opened  in  that  lan- 


IVANHOE 


307 


guage;  “but  know,  bright  lily  of  the  vale  of  Baca!1 
that  thy  father  is  already  in  the  hands  of  a  powerful 
alchemist,  who  knows  how  to  convert  into  gold  and 
silver  even  the  rusty  bars  of  a  dungeon  grate.  The 
venerable  Isaac  is  subjected  to  an  alembic,  which  will 
distill  from  him  all  he  holds  dear,  without  any  assist¬ 
ance  from  my  requests,  or  thy  entreaty.  Thy  ran¬ 
som  must  be  paid  by  love  and  beauty,  and  in  no  other 
coin  will  I  accept  it.” 

“Thou  art  no  outlaw,”  said  Rebecca,  in  the  same 
language  in  which  he  addressed  her;  “no  outlaw 
had  refused  such  offers.  No  outlaw  in  this  land  uses 
the  dialect  in  which  thou  hast  spoken.  Thou  art  no 
outlaw,  but  a  Norman— a  Norman,  noble  perhaps  in 
birth — 0,  be  so  in  thy  actions,  and  cast  off  this  fear¬ 
ful  mask  of  outrage  and  violence!” 

“And  thou,  who  canst  guess  so  truly,”  said  Brian 
de  Bois-Gilbert,  dropping  the  mantle  from  his  face, 
“art  no  true  daughter  of  Israel,  but  in  all,  save 
youth  and  beauty,  a  very  witch  of  Endor.2  I  am  not 
an  outlaw,  then,  fair  rose  of  Sharon.  And  I  am  one 
who  will  be  more  prompt  to  hang  thy  neck  and  arms 
with  pearls  and  diamonds,  which  so  well  become 
them,  than  to  deprive  thee  of  these  ornaments.” 

“What  wouldst  thou  have  of  me,”  said  Rebecca, 
“if  not  my  wealth? — We  can  have  naught  in  com¬ 
mon  between  us— you  are  a  Christian— I  am  a  Jew¬ 
ess. — Our  union  were  contrary  to  the  laws,  alike  of 
the  church  and  the  synagogue.” 

“It  were  so,  indeed,”  replied  the  Templar,  laugh¬ 
ing  “wed  with  a  Jewess?  Desyardieux!  Not  if 
she  were  the  Queen  of  Sheba!  And  know,  besides, 
sweet  daughter  of  Zion,  that  were  the  most  Christian 


’Psalms  LXXXIV,  6. 

’I  Samuel  XXVIII,  7-25. 


308 


IVANHOE 


king  to  offer  me  his  most  Christian  daughter,  with 
Languedoc,  for  a  dowry,  I  could  not  wed  her.  It  is 
against  my  vow  to  love  any  maiden,  otherwise  than 
par  amours,  as  I  will  love  thee.  I  am  a  Templar. 
Behold  the  cross  of  my  Holy  Order.” 

“Darest  thou  appeal  to  it,”  said  Rebecca,  “on  an 
occasion  like  the  present?” 

“And  if  I  do  so,”  said  the  Templar,  “it  concerns 
not  thee,  who’  art  no  believer  in  the  blessed  sign  of 
our  salvation.” 

“I  believe  as  my  fathers  taught,”  said  Rebecca; 
“and  may  God  forgive  my  belief  if  erroneous!  But 
you,  Sir  Knight,  what  is  yours,  when  you  appeal 
without  scruple  to  that  which  you  deem  most  holy, 
even  while  you  are  about  to  transgress  the  most 
solemn  of  your  vows  as  a  knight,  and  as  a  man  of 
religion?” 

“It  is  gravely  and  well  preached,  0  daughter  of 
Sirach!”  answered  the  Templar;  “but,  gentle  Eccle- 
siastica,  thy  narrow  Jewish  prejudices  make  thee 
blind  to  our  high  privileges.  Marriage  were  an 
enduring  crime  on  the  part  of  a  Templar;  but 
what  lesser  folly  I  may  practice,  I  shall  speedily  be 
absolved  from  at  the  next  Preceptory  of  our  Order. 
Not  the  wisest  of  monarchs,  not  his  father,  whose 
examples  you  must  needs  allow  are  weighty,  claimed 
wider  privileges  than  we  poor  soldiers  of  the  Temple 
of  Zion  have  won  by  our  zeal  in  its  defense.  The 
protectors  of  Solomon’s  Temple  may  claim  license  by 
the  example  of  Solomon.” 

“If  thou  readest  the  Scripture,”  said  the  Jewess, 
“and  the  lives  of  the  saints,  only  to  justify  thine  own 
license  and  profligacy,  thy  crime  is  like  that  of  him 
who  extracts  poison  from  the  most  healthful  and  nec¬ 
essary  herbs.” 

The  eyes  of  the  Templar  flashed  fire  at  this  re¬ 
proof. — “Hearken,”  he  said,  “Rebecca;  I  have 


IVANHOE 


309 


i 

hitherto  spoken  mildly  to  thee,  but  now  my  language 
shall  be  that  of  a  conqueror.  Thou  art  the  captive  of 
my  bow  and  spear — subject  to  my  will  by  the  laws  of 
all  nations;  nor  will  I  abate  an  inch  of  my  right,  or 
abstain  from  taking  by  violence  what  thou  refusest 
to  entreaty  or  necessity/’ 

“Stand  back,”  said  Rebecca — “stand  back,  and 
hear  me  ere  thou  offerest  to  commit  a  sin  so  deadly! 
My  strength  thou  mayst  indeed  overpower,  for  God 
made  women  weak,  and  trusted  their  defense  to 
man’s  generosity.  But  I  will  proclaim  thy  villainy, 

|  Templar,  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other.  I 
will  owe  to  the  superstition  of  thy  brethren  what 
their  compassion  might  refuse  me.  Each  Preceptory 
— each  Chapter  of  thy  Order,  shall  learn,  that,  like 
;  a  heretic,  thou  hast  sinned  with  a  Jewess.  Those 
|  who  tremble  not  at  thy  crime,  will  hold  thee  ac¬ 
cursed  for  having  so  far  dishonored  the  cross  thou 
wearest,  as  to  follow  a  daughter  of  my  people.” 

“Thou  are  keen-witted,  Jewess,”  replied  the  Tem¬ 
plar,  well  aware  of  the  truth  of  what  she  spoke,  and 
that  the  rules  of  his  Order  condemned  in  the  most 
positive  manner,  and  under  high  penalties,  such 
intrigues  as  he  now  prosecuted,  and  that,  in  some 
instances,  even  degradation  had  followed  upon  it — 
“thou  art  sharp-witted,”  he  said;  “but  loud  must  be 
thy  voice  of  complaint,  if  it  is  heard  beyond  the  iron 
walls  of  this  castle;  within  these,  murmurs,  laments, 
appeals  to  justice,  and  screams  for  help,  die  alike 
silent  away.  One  thing  only  can  save  thee,  Rebecca. 
Submit  to  thy  fate — embrace  our  religion,  and  thou 
shalt  go  forth  in  such  state,  that  many  a  Norman 
lady  shall  yield  as  well  in  pomp  as  in  beauty  to  the 
favorite  of  the  best  lance  among  the  defenders  of  the 
Temple.” 

“Submit  to  my  fate!”  said  Rebecca — “and,  sa¬ 
cred  Heaven!  to  what  fate? — embrace  thy  religion! 


310 


IVANHOE 


and  what  religion  can  it  be  that  harbors  such  a  vil¬ 
lain? — thou  the  best  lance  of  the  Templars! — Craven 
knight! — forsworn  priest!  I  spit  at  thee,  and  I  defy 
thee.— The  God  of  Abraham’s  promise  hath  opened 
an  escape  to  his  daughter — even  from  this  abyss  of 
infamy!” 

As  she  spoke,  she  threw  open  the  lattice  window 
which  led  to  the  bartizan,  and  in  an  instant  after, 
stood  on  the  very  verge  of  the  parapet,  with  not  the 
slightest  screen  between  her  and  the  tremendous 
depth  below.  Unprepared  for  such  a  desperate  effort, 
for  she  had  hitherto  stood  perfectly  motionless,  Bois- 
Guilbert  had  neither  time  to  intercept  nor  to  stop 
her.  As  he  offered  to  advance,,  she  exclaimed,  “Re¬ 
main  where  thou  art,  proud  Templar,  or  at  thy  choice 
advance! — one  foot  nearer,  and  I  plunge  myself 
from  the  precipice,  my  body  shall  be  crushed  out  of 
the  very  form  of  humanity  upon  the  stones  of  that 
courtyard,  ere  it  become  the  victim  of  thy  brutal¬ 
ity!” 

As  she  spoke  this,  she  elapsed  her  hands  and  ex¬ 
tended  them  towards  Heaven,  as  if  imploring  mercy 
on  her  soul  before  she  made  the  final  plunge.  The 
Templar  hesitated,  and  a  resolution  which  had  never 
yielded  to  pity  or  distress,  gave  way  to  his  admiration 
of  her  fortitude.  “Come  down,”  he  said,  “rash 
girl ! — I  swear  by  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky,  I  will 
offer  thee  no  offense.” 

“I  will  not  trust  thee.  Templar,”  said  Rebecca; 
“thou  hast  taught  me  better  how  to  estimate  the 
virtues  of  thine  Order.  The  next  Preceptory  would 
grant  thee  absolution  for  an  oath,  the  keeping  of 
which  concerned  naught  but  the  honor  or  the  dis¬ 
honor  of  a  miserable  Jewish  maiden.” 

“You  do  me  injustice,”  exclaimed  the  Templar, 
fervently;  “I  swear  to  you  by  the  name  which  I 
bear — by  the  cross  on  my  bosom — by  the  sword  on 


IVANHOE 


311 


my  side — by  the  ancient  crest  of  my  fathers  do  I 
swear,  I  will  do  thee  no  injury  whatsoever!  If  not 
for  thyself,  yet  for  thy  father’s  sake  forbear!  I 
will  be  his  friend,  and  in  this  castle  he  will  need  a 
powerful  one.” 

“Alas!”  said  Rebecca,  “I  know  it  but  too  well — 
dare  I  trust  thee?” 

“May  my  arms  be  reversed,  and  my  name  dis¬ 
honored,”  said  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  “if  thou 
shalt  have  reason  to  complain  of  me!  Many  a  law, 
many  a  commandment  have  I  broken,  but  my  word 
never.” 

“I  will  then  trust  thee,”  said  Rebecca,  “thus 
far;”  and  she  descended  from  the  verge  of  the  battle¬ 
ment.  but  remained  standing  close  by  one  of  the  em¬ 
brasures,  or  machicolles,  as  they  were  then  called. — 
“nere,"  sne  said,  **i  take  my  stand.  Remain  where 
thou  art,  and  if  thou  shalt  attempt  to  diminish 
by  one  step  the  distance  now  between  us,  thou 
shalt  see  that  the  Jewish  maiden  will  rather  trust 
her  soul  with  God,  than  her  honor  to  the  Templar!” 

While  Rebecca  spoke  thus,  her  high  and  firm  re¬ 
solve  which  corresponded  so  well  with  the  expressive 
beauty  of  her  countenance,  gave  to  her  looks,  air,  and 
manner,  a  dignity  that  seemed  more  than  mortal. 
Her  glance  quailed  not,  her  cheek  blanched  not  for 
the  fear  of  a  fate  so  instant  and  so  horrible;  on  the 
contrary,,  the  thought  that  she  had  her  fate  at  her 
command,  and  could  escape  at  will  from  infamy  to 
death,  gave  a  yet  deeper  color  of  carnation  to  her 
complexion,  and  a  yet  more  brilliant  fire  to  her  eye. 
Bois-Guilbert,  proud  himself  and  high-spirited, 
thought  he  had  never  beheld  beauty  so  animated  and 
so  commanding. 

“Let  there  be  peace  between  us,  Rebecca,”  he  said. 

“Peace,  if  thou  wilt,”  answered  Rebecca— “peace 

— but  with  this  space  between,” 


312 


Ivan  hoe 


“Thou  needst  no  longer  fear  me,”  said  Bois- 
Guilbert. 

“I  fear  thee  not,”  replied  she,  “thanks  to  him 
that  reared  this  dizzy  tower  so  high,  that  naught 
could  fall  from  it  and  live — thanks  to  him,  and  to 
the  God  of  Israel! — I  fear  thee  not.” 

“Thou  dost  me  injustice,”  said  the  Templar; 
“by  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  thou  dost  me  injustice!  1 
am  not  naturally  that  which  you  have  seen  me,  hard, 
selfish,  and  relentless.  It  was  woman  that  taught 
me  cruelty,  and  on  woman  therefore  I  have  exer¬ 
cised  it;  but  not  upon  such  as  thou.  Hear  me,  Re¬ 
becca. — Never  did  knight  take  lance  in  his  hand  with 
a  heart  more  devoted  to  the  lady  of  his  love  than 
Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert.  She,  the  daughter  of  a 
petty  baron,  who  boasted  for  all  his  domains  but 
a  ruinous  tower,  and  an  unproductive  vineyard,  and 
some  few  leagues  of  the  barren  Landes  of  Bordeaux, 
her  name  was  known  wherever  deeds  of  arms  were 
done,  known  wider  than  that  of  many  a  lady’s  that 
had  a  county  for  a  dowry. — Yes,”  he  continued, 
pacing  up  and  down  the  little  platform,  with  an  ani¬ 
mation  in  which  he  seemed  to  lose  all  consciousness  of 
Rebecca’s  presence — “Yes,  my  deeds,  my  danger,  my 
blood,  made  the  name  of  Adelaide  de  Montemare 
known  from  the  court  of  Castle  to  that  of  Byzantium.1 
And  how  was  I  requited? — When  I  returned  with 
my  dear-bought  honors,  purchased  by  toil  and  blood, 
I  found  her  wedded  to  a  Gascon  squire,  whose  name 
was  never  heard  beyond  the  limits  of  his  own  paltry 
domain!  Truly  did  I  love  her,  and  bitterly  did  I 
revenge  me  of  her  broken  faith!  But  my  vengeance 
has  recoiled  on  myself.  Since  that  day  I  have  sepa¬ 
rated  myself  from  life  and  its  ties— My  manhood 

1From  Spain  to  Constantinople. 

■A  native  of  Glascony,  a  French  province. 


IVANHOE 


313 


must  know  no  domestic  home — must  be  soothed  by 
no  affectionate  wife— My  age  must  know  no  kindly 
hearth — My  grave  must  be  solitary,  and  no  offspring 
must  outlive  me,  to  bear  the  ancient  name  of  Bois- 
Guilbert.  At  the  feet  of  my  Superior  I  have  laid 
down  the  right  of  self-action— the  privilege  of  inde¬ 
pendence.  The  Templar,  a  serf  in  all  but  the  name, 
can  possess  neither  lands  nor  goods,  and  lives,  moves, 
and  breathes,  but  at  the  will  and  pleasure  of  another.” 

“Alas!”  said  Rebecca,  “what  advantages  could 
compensate  for  such  an  absolute  sacrifice?” 

“The  power  of  vengeance,  Rebecca,”  replied  the 
Templar,  “and  the  prospects  of  ambition.” 

“An  evil  recompense,”  said  Rebecca,  “for  the 
surrender  of  the  rights  which  are  dearest  to  human¬ 
ity.” 

“Say  not  so,  maiden,”  answered  the  Templar; 
“revenge  is  a  feast  for  the  gods!  And  if  they  have 
reserved  it,  as  priests  tell  us,  to  themselves,  it  is  be¬ 
cause  they  hold  it  an  enjoyment  too  precious  for  the 
possession  of  mere  mortals. — And  ambition .?  It  is 
a  temptation  which  could  disturb  even  the  bliss  of 
heaven  itself.”— He  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
added,  “Rebecca!  she  who  could  prefer  death  to  dis¬ 
honor,  must  have  a  proud  and  a  powerful  soul.  Mine 
thou  must  be! — Nay,  start  not,”  he  added,  “it  must 
be  with  thine  own  consent,  and  on  thine  own  terms. 
Thou  must  consent  to  share  with  me  hopes  more  ex¬ 
tended  than  can  be  viewed  from  the  throne  of  a  mon¬ 
arch! — Hear  me  ere  you  answer,  and  judge  ere  you 
refuse. — The  Templar  loses,  as  thou  hast  said,  his 
social  rights,  his  power  of  free  agency,  but  he  be¬ 
comes  a  member  and  a  limb  of  a  mighty  body,  before 
which  thrones  already  tremble, — even  as  the  single 
drop  of  rain  which  mixes  with  the  sea  becomes  an 
individual  part  of  that  resistless  ocean,  which  under¬ 
mines  rocks  and  engulfs  royal  armadas.  Such  a 


314 


IVANHOE 


swelling  flood  is  that  powerful  league.  Of  this  mighty 
Order  I  am  no  mean  member,  but  already  one  of  the 
Chief  Commanders,,  and  may  well  aspire  one  day  to 
hold  the  batoon  of  Grand  Master.  The  poor  soldiers 
of  the  Temple  will  not  alone  place  their  foot  upon 
the  necks  of  kings — a  hemp-sandal’d  monk  can  do 
that.  Our  mailed  step  shall  ascend  their  throne — 
our  gauntlet  shall  wrench  the  scepter  from  their 
gripe.  Not  the  reign  of  your  vainly-expected  Mes¬ 
siah  offers  such  power  to  your  dispersed  tribes  as  my 
ambition  may  aim  at.  1  have  sought  but  a  kindred 
spirit  to  share  it,  and  I  have  found  such  in  thee.” 

“Sayest  thou  this  to  one  of  my  people?”  an¬ 
swered  Rebecca.  “Bethink  thee — ” 

“Answer  me  not,”  said  the  Templar,  “by  urging 
the  difference  of  our  creeds;  within  our  secret  con¬ 
claves  we  hold  these  nursery  tales  in  derision.  Think 
not  we  long  remained  blind  to  the  idiotical  folly  of 
our  founders,,  who  forswore  every  delight  of  life  for 
the  pleasure  of  dying  martyrs  by  hunger,  by  thirst, 
and  by  pestilence,  and  by  the  swords  of  savages, 
while  they  vainly  strove  to  defend  a  barren  desert, 
valuable  only  in  the  eyes  of  superstition.  Our  Order 
soon  adopted  bolder  and  wider  views,  and  found  out 
a  better  indemnification  for  our  sacrifices.  Our  im¬ 
mense  possessions  in  every  kingdom  of  Europe,  our 
high  military  fame,  which  brings  within  our  circle 
the  flower  of  chivalry  from  every  Christian  clime — 
these  are  dedicated  to  ends  of  which  our  pious  foun¬ 
ders  little  dreamed,  and  which  are  equally  concealed 
from  such  weak  spirits  as  embrace  our  Order  on 
the  ancient  principles,  and  whose  superstition  makes 
them  our  passive  tools.  But  I  will  not  further  with¬ 
draw  the  veil  of  our  mysteries.  That  bugle-sound  an¬ 
nounces  something  which  may  require  my  presence. 
Think  on  what  I  have  said. — Farewell! — I  do  not 
say  forgive  me  the  violence  I  have  threatened,  for  it 


IVANHOE 


315 


was  necessary  to  the  display  of  thy  character.  Gold 
can  be  only  known  by  the  application  of  the  touch¬ 
stone.  I  will  soon  return,  and  hold  further  con¬ 
ference  with  thee.” 

|  He  re-entered  the  turret-chamber,  and  descended 
the  stair,  leaving  Rebecca  scarcely  more  terrified  at 
the  prospect  of  the  death  to  which  she  had  been  so 
lately  exposed,  than  at  the  furious  ambition  of  the 
bold  bad  man  in  whose  power  she  found  herself  so 
unhappily  placed.  When  she  entered  the  turret- 
chamber,  her  first  duty  was  to  return  thanks  to  the 
God  of  Jacob  for  the  protection  which  he  had  afforded 
|  her,  and  to  implore  its  continuance  for  her  and  for 
her  father.  Another  name  glided  into  her  petition—- 
l  it  was  that  of  the  wounded  Christian,  whom  fate  had 
placed  in  the  hands  of  bloodthirsty  men,  his  avowed 
enemies.  Her  heart  indeed  checked  her,  as  if,  even 
in  communing  with  the  Deity  in  prayer,  she  mingled 
in  her  devotions  the  recollections  of  one  with  whose 
fate  hers  could  have  no  alliance — a  Nazarene,  and 
an  enemy  to  her  faith.  But  the  petition  was  already 
breathed,  nor  could  all  the  narrow  prejudices  of  her 
sect  induce  Rebecca  to  wish  it  recalled. 


Question:  Wlhat  one  circumstance  lets  you  know  that 
the  events  of  the  last  four  chapters  all  took  place  at  the 

S£l Question:  How  do  you  suggest  that  they  all  succeed 
in  getting  out? 


CHAPTER  XXV 


A  damn’d  cramp  piece  of  penmanship  as 
ever  I  saw  in  my  life. 

She  Stoops  to  Conquer. 

When  the  Templar  reached  the  hall  of  the  castle, 
he  found  De  Bracy  already  there.  “Your  love-suit,” 
said  De  Bracy,  “hath,  I  suppose,  been  disturbed, 
like  mine,  by  this  obstreperous  summons.  But  you 
have  come  later  and  more  reluctantly,  and  therefore 
I  presume  your  interview  has  proven  more  agree¬ 
able  than  mine.” 

“Has  your  suit,  then,  been  unsuccessfully  paid  to 
the  Saxon  heiress?”  said  the  Templar. 

By  the  bones  of  Thomas  a  Becket,”  answered 
De  Bracy,  “the  Lady  Rowena  must  have  heard  that 
I  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  women’s  tears.” 

“Away!”  said  the  Templar;  “thou  a  leader  of  a 
Free  Company,  and  regard  a  woman’s  tears!  A  few 
drops  sprinkled  on  the  torch  of  love  make  the  flame 
blaze  the  brighter.” 

“Gramercy  for  the  few  drops  of  thy  sprinkling,” 
replied  De  Bracy;  “but  this  damsel  hath  wept 
enough  to  extinguish  a  beacon-light.  Never  was  such 
wringing  of  hands  and  such  overflowing  of  eyes, 
since  the  days  of  St.  Niobe,1  of  whom  Prior  Aymer 
told  us.  A  water-fiend  hath  possessed  the  fair 
Saxon.” 

“A  legion  of  fiends  have  occupied  the  bosom  of 
the  Jewess,”  replied  the  Templar;  “for,  I  think  no 

aBecause  Niobe  boasted  of  her  children,  they  we^e  killed 
and  she  was  turned  by  Zeus  to  a  rock  which  continued  to 
weep.  She  stands  as  the  impersonation  of  grief. 


IVANHOE 


317 


single  one,  not  even  Apollyon1  himself,  could  have 
inspired  such  indomitable  pride  and  resolution. — But 
where  is  Front-de-Bceuf  ?  That  horn  is  sounded  more 
and  more  clamorously.” 

“He  is  negotiating  with  the  Jew,  I  suppose,”  re¬ 
plied  De  Bracy,  coolly;  “probably  the  howls  of  Isaac 
have  drowned  the  blast  of  the  bugle.  Thou  mayst 
!know,  by  experience,  Sir  Brian,  that  a  Jew  parting 
with  his  treasures  on  such  terms  as  our  friend  Front- 
de-Boeuf  is  like  to  offer,  will  raise  a  clamor  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  over  twenty  horns  and  trumpets 
to  boot.  But  we  will  make  the  vassals  call  him.” 

They  were  soon  after  joined  by  Front-de-Bceuf, 
who  had  been  disturbed  in  his  tryannic  cruelty  in 
the  manner  with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted,  and 
had  only  tarried  to  give  some  necessary  directions. 

“Let  us  see  the  cause  of  this  cursed  clamor,”  said 
Front-de-Boeuf. — “Here  is  a  letter,  and,  if  I  mis¬ 
take  not,  it  is  in  Saxon.” 

He  looked  at  it,  turning  it  round  and  round  as  if 
he  had  had  really  some  hopes  of  coming  at  the  mean¬ 
ing  by  inverting  the  position  of  the  paper,  and  then 
handed  it  to  De  Bracy. 

“It  may  be  magic  spells  for  aught  I  know,”  said 
I  De  Bracy,  who  possessed  his  full  proportion  of 
the  ignorance  which  characterized  the  chivalry  of  the 
period.  “Our  chaplain  attempted  to  teach  me  to 
write,”  he  said,  “but  all  my  letters  were  formed 
like  spear-heads,  or  sword-blades,  and  so  the  old 
shaveling2  gave  up  the  task.” 

“Give  it  me,”  said  the  Templar.  “We  have  that 
of  the  priestly  character,  that  we  have  some  knowl¬ 
edge  to  enlighten  our  valor.” 

Angel  of  the  bottomless  pit.  Revelations  IX,  11.  C&e 
of  Satan’s  angels  in  Pilgrim’s  Progress. 

2Monk.  His  head  was  shaved. 


318 


IVANHOE 


“Let  us  profit  by  your  most  reverend  knowledge, 
then,”  said  De  Bracy;  “what  says  the  scroll?” 

“It  is  a  formal  letter  of  defiance.”  answered  the 
Templar;  “but,  by  our  Lady  of  Bethlehem,1  if  it  be 
not  a  foolish  jest,  it  is  the  most  extraordinary  cartel 
that  ever  was  sent  across  the  drawbridge  of  a  baronial 
castle.” 

“Jest!”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  “I  would  gladly 
know  who  dares  jest  with  me  in  such  a  matter! — 
Read  it,  Sir  Brian.” 

The  Templar  accordingly  read  it  as  follows: — 

“I,  Wamba,  the  son  of  Witless,  Jester  to  a  noble 
and  freeborn  man,  Cedric  of  Rotherwood,  called  the 
Saxon, — And  I„  Gurth,  the  son  of  Beowulph,  the 
swineherd — ” 

“Thou  art  mad,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  interrupt¬ 
ing  the  reader. 

“By  St.  Luke,  it  is  so  set  down,”  answered  the 
Templar.  Then  resuming  his  task,  he  went  on, — 
“I,  Gurth,  the  son  of  Beowulph,  swineherd  unto  the 
said  Cedric,  with  the  assistance  of  our  allies  and 
confederates,  who  make  common  cause  with  us  in 
this  our  feud,  namely,  the  good  knight,  called  for 
the  present  Le  Noir  Faineant,  and  the  stout  yeo¬ 
man,  Robert  Locksley,  called  Cleave-the-wand,  Do 
you,  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,  and  your  allies  and 
accomplices  whomsoever,  to  wit,  that  whereas  you 
have,  without  cause  given  or  feud  declared,  wrong¬ 
fully  and  by  mastery  seized  upon  the  person  of  our 
lord  and  master  the  said  Cedric;  also  upon  the  per¬ 
son  of  a  noble  and  freeborn  damsel,  the  Lady  Row- 
ena  of  Hargottstandstede ;  also  upon  the  person  of  a 
noble  and  freeborn  man,  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh ; 
ajso  upon  the  persons  of  certain  freeborn  men,  their 
cnichts ;  also  upon  certain  serfs,  their  born  bonds- 


’The  Virgin  Mary. 


IVANHOE 


319 


men;  also  upon  a  certain  Jew,  named  Isaac  of  York, 
together  with  his  daughter,  a  Jewess,  and  certain 
horses  and  mules :  Which  noble  persons,,  with  their 
cnichts  and  slaves,  and  also  with  the  horses  and 
mules,  Jew  and  Jewess  beforesaid,  were  all  in  peace 
with  his  majesty,  and  traveling  as  liege  subjects  upon 
the  king’s  highway;  therefore  we  require  and  de¬ 
mand  that  the  said  noble  persons,  namely,  Cedric  of 
Rotherwood,  Rowena  of  Hargottstandstede,  !Athel- 
stane  of  Coningsburgh,  with  their  servants,  cnichts 
and  followers,  also  the  horses  and  mules,  Jew  and 
Jewess  aforesaid,  together  with  all  goods  and  chattels 
to  them  pertaining,  be,  within  an  hour  after  the  deliv¬ 
ery  hereof,  delivered  to  us,  or  to  those  whom  we  shall 
appoint  to  receive  the  same,  and  that  untouched  and 
unharmed  in  body  and  goods.  Failing  of  which,  we 
do  pronounce  to  you,  that  we  hold  ye  as  robbers  and 
traitors,  and  will  wager  our  bodies  against  ye  in 
battle,  seige,  or  otherwise,  and  do  our  utmost  to  your 
annoyance  and  destruction.  Wherefore  may  God 
have  you  in  his  keeping. — Signed  by  us  upon  the 
eve  of  St.  Withold’s  day,  under  the  great  trysting 
oak  in  the  Hart-hill  Walk,  the  above  being  written 
by  a  holy  man,  Clerk  to  God,  our  Lady,,  and  St. 
Dunstan,  in  the  Chapel  of  Copmanhurst.’ 

At  the  bottom  of  this  document  was  scrawled,  in 
the  first  place,  a  rude  sketch  of  a  cock  s  head  and 
comb,  with  a  legend  expressing  this  heiroglyphic  to 
the  sign-manual  of  Wamba,  son  of  Witless.  Un¬ 
der  this  respectable  emblem  stood  a  cross,  stated  to 
be  the  mark  of  Gurth,  the  son  of  Beowulph.  Then 
was  written,  in  rough  bold  characters,  the  words, 
Le  Noir  Faineant .  And,  to  conclude  the  whole,  an 
arrow  neatly  enough  drawn,  was  described  as  the 
mark  of  the  yeoman  Locksley. 


Question  :  Was  this  letter  intended  to  be  humorous? 


320 


Ivan  hoe 


The  knights  heard  this  uncommon  document  read 
from  end  to  end,  and  then  gazed  upon  each  other 
in  silent  amazement,  as  being  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  it  could  portend.  De  Bracy  was  the  first 
to  break  silence  by  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter, 
wherein  he  was  joined,  though  with  more  modera¬ 
tion,  by  the  Templar.  Front-de-Bceuf,  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  seemed  impatient  of  their  ill-timed  jocularity. 

“I  give  you  plain  warning,”  he  said,  “fair  sirs, 
that  you  had  better  consult  how  to  bear  yourselves 
under  these  circumstances,  than  give  way  to  such 
misplaced  merriment.” 

“Front-de-Bceuf  has  not  recovered  his  temper 
since  his  late  overthrow,”  said  De  Bracy  to  the  Tem¬ 
plar;  “he  is  cowed  at  the  very  idea  of  a  cartel, 
though  it  come  but  from  a  fool  and  a  swineherd.” 

“By  St.  Michael,”  answered  Front-de-Boeuf,  “I 
would  thou  couldst  stand  the  whole  brunt  of  this  ad¬ 
venture  thyself,  De  Bracy.  These  fellows  dared  not 
have  acted  with  such  inconceivable  impudence,  had 
they  not  been  supported  by  some  strong  bands.  There 
are  enough  of  outlaws  in  this  forest  to  resent  my  pro¬ 
tecting  the  deer.  I  did  but  tie  one  fellow,  who  was 
taken  red-handed  and  in  the  act,  to  the  horns  of  a 
wild  stag,  which  gored  him  to  death  in  five  minutes, 
and  I  had  as  many  arrows  shot  at  me  as  there  were 
launched  against  yonder  target  at  Ashby. — Here, 
fellow,”  he  added,  to  one  of  his  attendants,  “hast 
thou  sent  out  to  see  by  what  force  this  precious 
challenge  is  to  be  supported?” 

“There  are  at  least  two  hundred  men  assembled 
in  the  woods,”  answered  a  squire  who  was  in  attend¬ 
ance. 

“Here  is  a  proper  matter!”1  said  Front-de-Boeuf; 
“this  comes  of  lending  you  the  use  of  my  castle, 


fine  state  of  affairs. 


IVANHOE 


321 


iiat  cannot  manage  your  undertaking  quietly,  but 
|ou  must  bring  this  nest  of  hornets  about  my  ears!” 

‘‘Of  hornets!”  said  De  Bracy;  “of  stingless 
rones  rather;  a  band  of  lazy  knaves,  who  take  to 
le  wood,  and  destroy  the  venison  rather  than  labor 
br  their  maintenance.” 

“Stingless!”  replied  Front-de-Bceuf ;  “fork-headed 
hafts  of  a  clothyard  in  length,  and  these  shot  with- 
n  the  breadth  of  a  French  crown1  are  sting  enough.” 

“For  shame,,  Sir  Knight!”  said  the  Templar. 
Let  us  summon  our  people,  and  sally  forth  upon 
hem.  One  knight — ay,  one  man-at-arms,  were 
nough  for  twenty  such  peasants.” 

“Enough,  and  too  much,”  said  De  Bracy;  “I  should 
mly  be  ashamed  to  couch  lance  against  them.” 

“True,”  answered  Front-de-Boeuf ;  “were  they 
>lack  Turks  or  Moors,  Sir  Templar,  or  the  craven 
peasants  of  France,  most  valiant  De  Bracy ;  but  these 
ire  English  yeomen,  over  whom  we  shall  have  no 
idvantage,  save  what  we  may  derive  from  our  arms 
md  horses,  which  will  avail  us  little  in  the  glades  of 
!;he  forest.  Sally,  saidst  thou?  We  have  scarce  men 
mough  to  defend  the  castle.  The  best  of  mine  are 
at  York;  so  is  all  your  band,  De  Bracy;  and  we 
lave  scarcely  twenty,  besides  the  handful  that  were 
engaged  in  this  mad  business.” 

“Thou  dost  not  fear,”  said  the  Templar,  “that 
they  can  assemble  in  force  sufficient  to  attempt  the 
castle  ?  ” 

“Not  so,  Sir  Brian,”  answered.  Front-de-Boeuf. 
“These  outlaws  have  indeed  a  daring  captain;  but 
^without  machines,  scaling  ladders,  and  experienced 
|  leaders,  my  castle  may  defy  them.” 

“Send  to  thy  neighbors,”  said  the  Templar;  “let 
them  assemble  their  people,  and  come  to  the  rescue 


small  gold  coin. 


322 


IVANHOE 


of  three  knights,  besieged  by  a  jester  and  a  swine¬ 
herd  in  the  baronial  castle  of  Reginald  Front-de- 
Bceuf !” 

“You  jest,  Sir  Knight,”  answered  the  baron; 
“but  to  whom  should  I  send? — Malvoisin  is  by  this 
time  at  York  with  his  retainers,  and  so  are  my  other 
allies;  and  so  should  I  have  been,  but  for  this  infer¬ 
nal  enterprise.” 

“Then  send  to  York,  and  recall  our  people,”  said 
De  Bracy.  “If  they  abide  the  shaking  of  my  stand¬ 
ard,  or  the  sight  of  my  Free  Companions,  I  will  give 
them  credit  for  the  boldest  outlaws  ever  bent  bow  in 
greenwood.” 

“And  who  shall  bear  such  a  message?”  said 
Front-de-Boeuf;  “they  will  beset  every  path,  and  rip 
the  errand  out  of  his  bosom. — I  have  it,”  he  added, 
after  pausing  for  a  moment — “Sir  Templar,  thou 
canst  write  as  well  as  read,  and  if  we  can  but  find 
the  writing  materials  of  my  chaplain,  who  died  a 
twelvemonth  since  in  the  midst  of  his  Christmas 
carousals — ” 

“So  please  ye,”  said  the  squire,  who  was  still  in 
attendance,  “I  think  old  Urfried  has  them  some¬ 
where  in  keeping,  for  love  of  the  confessor.  He  was 
the  last  man,  I  have  heard  tell,  who  ever  said 
aught  to  her,  which  man  ought  in  courtesy  to  address 
to  maid  or  matron.” 

“Go,  search  them  out,  Engelred,”  said  Front-de- 
Boeuf;  “and  then,  Sir  Templar,  thou  shalt  return 
an  answer  to  this  bold  challenge.” 

“I  would  rather  do  it  at  the  sword’s  point  than 
at  that  of  the  pen,”  said  Bois-Guilbert ;  “but  be  it 
as  you  will.” 

He  sat  down  accordingly,  and  indited  in  the 
French  language,  an  epistle  of  the  following  tenor: — 

“Sir  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf,  with  his  noble  and 
knightly  allies  and  confederates,  receives  no  defi- 


Ivan  hoe 


323 


,nces  at  the  hands  of  slaves,  bondsmen,  or  fugitives, 
f  the  person  calling  himself  the  Black  Knight  have 
ndeed  a  claim  to  the  honors  of  chivalry,  he  ought  to 
.now  that  he  stands  degraded  by  his  present  associa- 
ion,  and  has  no  right  to  ask  reckoning  at  the  hands 
if  good  men  of  noble  blood.  Touching  the  prison- 
rs  we  have  made,  we  do  in  Christian  charity  require 
rou  to  send  a  man  of  religion,  to  receive  their  con¬ 
fession,  and  reconcile  them  with  God;  since  it  is 
iur  fixed  intention  to  execute  them  this  morning 
iefore  noon,  so  that  their  heads  being  placed  on  the 
mttlements,  shall  show  to  all  men  how  lightly  we 
isteem  those  who  have  bestirred  themselves  in  their 
•escue.  Wherefore,  as  above,  we  require  you  to  send 
i  priest  to  reconcile  them  to  God,  in  doing  which  you 
;hall  render  them  the  last  earthly  service/’ 

This  letter  being  folded,  was  delivered  to  the 
squire,  and  by  him  to  the  messenger  who  waited 
vithout,  as  the  answer  to  that  which  he  had 
>rought. 

The  yeoman  having  thus  accomplished  his  mission, 
’eturned  to  the  headquarters  of  the  allies,  which 
vere  for  the  present  established  under  a  venerable 
>ak  tree,  about  three  arrow-flights  distant  from  the 
iastle.  Here  Wamba  and  Gurth,  with  their  allies 
she  Black  Kriight  and  Locksley,,  and  the  jovial  her- 
snit,  awaited  with  impatience  an  answer  to  their 
summons.  Around,  and  at  a  distance  from  them, 
vere  seen  many  a  bold  yeoman,  whose  silvan  dress  and 
weatherbeaten  countenances  showed  the  ordinary 
nature  of  their  occupation.  More  than  two  hundred 
had  already  assembled,  and  others  were  fast  coming 
in.  Those  whom  they  obeyed  as  leaders  were  only 
distinguished  from  the  others  by  a  feather  in  the 
cap,  their  dress,  arms,  and  equipments  being  in  all 
other  respects  the  same. 

Besides  these  bands,  a  less  orderly  and  a  worse 


324 


Ivan  hoe 


armed  force,  consisting  of  the  Saxon  inhabitants  of 
the  neighboring  township,  as  well  as  many  bonds¬ 
men  and  servants  from  Cedric’s  extensive  estate,  had 
already  arrived,  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  in  his 
rescue.  Few  of  these  were  armed  otherwise  than 
with  such  rustic  weapons  as  necessity  sometimes  con¬ 
verts  to  military  purposes.  Boar-spears,  scythes, 
flails,  and  the  like,  were  their  chief  arms;  for  the 
Normans,  with  the  usual  policy  of  conquerors,  were 
jealous  of  permitting  to  the  vanquished  Saxons  the 
possession  or  the  use  of  swords  and  spears.  These 
circumstances  rendered  the  assistance  of  the  Saxons 
far  from  being  so  formidable  to  the  besieged,  as  the 
strength  of  the  men  themselves,  their  superior  num¬ 
bers,  and  the  animation  inspired  by  a  just  cause, 
might  otherwise  well  have  made  them.  It  was  to 
the  leaders  of  this  motley  army  that  the  letter  of 
the  Templar  was  now  delivered. 

Reference  was  at  first  made  to  the  chaplain  for  an 
exposition  of  its  contents. 

“By  the  crook  of  St.  Dunstan,”  said  that  worthy 
ecclesiastic,  “which  hath  brought  more  sheep  within 
the  sheepfold  than  the  crook  of  e’er  another  saint  in 
Paradise,  I  swear  that  I  cannot  expound  unto  you 
this  jargon,  which,  whether  it  be  French  or  Arabic, 
is  beyond  my  guess.” 

He  then  gave  the  letter  to  Gurth,  who  shook  his 
head  gruffly,  and  passed  it  to  Wamba.  The  Jester 
looked  at  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the  paper  with 
such  a  grin  of  affected  intelligence  as  a  monkey  is 
apt  to  assume  upon  similar  occasions,  then  cut  a 
caper,  and  gave  the  letter  to  Locksley. 

“If  the  long  letters  were  bows,  and  the  short 
letters  broad  arrows,  I  might  know  something  of  the 
matter,”  said  the  brave  yeoman;  “but  as  the  matter 
stands,  the  meaning  is  as  safe,  for  me,  as  the  stag 
that’s  at  twelve  miles  distant.” 


IVANHOE 


325 


‘‘I  must  be  clerk,  then,”  said  the  Black  Knight , 
ind  taking  the  letter  from  Locksley,  he  first  read  it 
!>ver  to  himself,  and  then  explained  the  meaning  in 
$axon  to  his  confederates. 

“Execute  the  noble  Cedric!”  exclaimed  Wamba; 
‘by  the  rood,  thou  must  be  mistaken,  Sir  Knight." 

‘‘Not  I.  my  worthy  friend,”  replied  the  knight; 
j“I  have  explained  the  words  as  they  are  here  set 

down.”  „  ..  , 

“Then,  by  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  replied 
Gurth,  “we  will  have  the  castle,  should  we  tear  it 
down  with  our  hands!” 

“We  have  nothing  else  to  tear  it  with,”  replied 
! Wamba;  “but  mine  are  scarce  fit  to  make  mammocks 
of  freestone  and  mortar.” 

“  Tis  but  a  contrivance  to  gain  time,”  said 
Locksley;  “they  dare  not  do  a  deed  for  which  I 
could  exact  a  fearful  penalty.” 

“I  would,”  said  the  Black  Knight,  “there  were 
some  one  among  us  who  could  obtain  admission  into 
the  castle,  and  discover  how  the  case  stands  with  the 
besieged.  Methinks,  as  they  require  a  confessor  to 
be  sent,  this  holy  hermit  might  at  once  exercise  his 
pious  vocation,  and  procure  us  the  information  we 
desire.” 

“A  plague  on  thee,  and  thy  advice !  said  the 
pious  hermit;  “I  tell  thee,  Sir  Slothful  Knight,  that 
when  I  doff  my  friar’s  frock,  my  priesthood,  my 
sancity,  my  very  Latin,  are  put  off  along  with  it; 
and  when  in  my  green  jerkin,  1  can  better  kill  twenty 
deer  than  confess  one  Christian.” 
i  “i  fear,”  said  the  Black  Knight,  “I  fear  greatly, 
there  is  no  one  here  that  is  qualified  to  take  upon 
him,  for  the  nonce,1  this  same  character  of  father 
confessor?” 


*For  the  time  being. 


326 


Ivan  hoe 


All  looked  on  each  other,  and  were  silent. 

“I  see,”  said  Wamba,  after  a  short  pause,  ‘‘that 
the  fool  must  be  still  the  fool,  and  put  his  neck  in 
the  venture  which  wise  men  shrink  from.  You  must 
know,  my  dear  cousins  and  countrymen,  that  I  wore 
russet  before  I  wore  motley,  and  was  bred  to  be  a 
friar,  until  a  brain-fever  came  upon  me  and  left 
me  just  wit  enough  to  be  a  fool.  I  trust,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  good  hermit’s  frock,  together  with 
the  priesthood,  sanctity,  and  learning  which  are 
stitched  into  the  co\vl  of  it,  I  shall  be  found  quali¬ 
fied  to  administer  both  worldly  and  ghostly  comfort 
to  our  worthy  master  Cedric,  and  his  companions  in 
adversity.” 

‘‘Hath  he  sense  enough,  thinkest  thou?”  said  the 
Black  Knight,  addressing  Gurth. 

‘‘I  know  not,”  said  Gurth;  “but  if  he  hath  not, 
it  will  be  the  first  time  he  hath  wanted  wit  to  turn 
his  folly  to  account.” 

“On  with  the  frock,  then,  good  fellow,”  quoth  the 
Knight,  “and  let  thy  master  send  us  an  account  of 
their  situation  within  the  castle.  Their  numbers 
must  be  few,  and  it  is  five  to  one  they  may  be  acces¬ 
sible  by  a  sudden  and  bold  attack.  Time  wears — 
away  with  thee.” 

“And,  in  the  meantime,”  said  Locksley,  “we  will 
beset  the  place  so  closely,  that  not  so  much  as  a  ny 
shall  carry  news  from  thence.  So  that,  my  good 
friend,”  he  continued,  addressing  Wamba,  “thou 
mayst  assure  these  tyrants,  that  whatever  violence 
they  exercise  on  the  persons  of  their  prisoners,  shall 
be  most  severely  repaid  upon  their  own.” 

“ Pax  vobiscum,”1  said  Wamba,  who  was  now 
muffled  in  his  religious  disguise. 


xPeace  be  with  you. 


Ivan  hoe 


327 


And  so  saying,  he  imitated  the  solemn  and  stately 
deportment  of  a  friar,  and  departed  to  execute  his 
mission. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


The  hottest  horse  will  oft  be  cool. 

The  dullest  will  show  fire ; 

The  friar  will  often  play  the  fool, 

The  fool  will  play  the  friar. 

Old  Sonp. 

When  the  Jester,  arrayed  in  the  cowl  and  frock 
of  the  hermit,  and  having  his  knotted  cord  twisted 
round  his  middle,  stood  before  the  portal  of  the 
castle  of  Front-de-Bceuf,  the  warder  demanded  of 
him  his  name  and  errand. 

“Pax  vobiscum,”  answered  the  Jester,  “I  am.  a 
poor  brother  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis,1  who  come 
hither  to  do  my  office  to  certain  unhappy  prisoners 
now  secured  within  this  castle/’ 

“Thou  are  a  bold  friar,”  said  the  warder,,  “to 
come  hither,  where,  saving  our  own  drunken  con¬ 
fessor,  a  cock  of  thy  feather  hath  not  crowed  these 
twenty  years.” 

“Yet,  I  pray  thee,  do  mine  errand  to  the  lord  of 
the  castle,”  answered  the  pretended  friar;  “trust  me, 
it  will  find  good  acceptance  with  him,  and  the  cock 
shall  crow,  that  the  whole  castle  shall  hear  him.” 

“Gramercy,”  said  the  warder;  “but  if  I  come  to 
shame  for  leaving  my  post  upon  thine  errand,  I  will 
try  whether  a  friar’s  gray  gown  be  proof  against 
a  gray-goose  shaft.” 

With  this  threat  he  left  his  turret,  and  carried  to 
the  hall  of  the  castle  his  unwonted  intelligence,  that 
a  holy  friar  stood  before  the  gate  and  demanded  in¬ 
stant  admission.  With  no  small  wonder  he  received 
his  master’s  commands  to  admit  the  holy  man  im¬ 
mediately;  and,  having  previously  manned  the  en¬ 
trance  to  guard  against  surprise,  he  obeyed,  without 


Franciscans  or  Grey  Friars. 


IVANHOE 


329 


further  scruple,  the  commands  which  he  had  received. 
The  hare-brained  self-conceit  which  had  emboldened 
;  Wamba  to  undertake  this  dangerous  office,  was  scarce 
f  sufficient  to  support  him  when  he  found  himself  in 
the  presence  of  a  man  so  dreadful,  and  so  much 
dreaded,  as  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,  and  he  brought 
out  his  pax  vobiscum,  to  which  he,  in  a  good  measure, 
trusted  for  supporting  his  character,  with  more 
anxiety  and  hesitation  than  had  hitherto  accom¬ 
panied  it.  But  Front-de-Bceuf  was  accustomed  to 
see  men  of  all  ranks  tremble  in  his  presence,  so  that 
the  timidity  of  the  supposed  father  did  not  give  him 
any  cause  of  suspicion.  “Who  and  whence  art  thou, 
priest  ?”  said  he. 

“Pax  vobiscum,”  reiterated  the  Jester,  “I  am  a 
poor  servant  of  St.  Francis,  who,  traveling  through 
this  wilderness,  have  fallen  among  thieves,  as  Scrip¬ 
ture  hath  it,  quidarn  viator1  incidit  in  latrones,  which 
thieves  have  sent  me  unto  this  castle  in  order  to  do 
my  ghostly  office  on  two  persons  condemned  by  your 
honorable  justice.” 

“Ay,  right/’  answered  Front-de-Bceuf;  “and  canst 
thou  tell  me,  holy  father,  the  number  of  those  ban¬ 
ditti?” 

“Gallant  sir,”  answered  the  Jester,  “nomen  illis 
legio /  their  name  is  legion.” 

“Tell  me  in  plain  terms  what  numbers  there  are, 
or,  priest,  thy  cloak  and  cord  will  ill  protect  thee.’’ 

“Alas!”  said  the  supposed  friar,  “cor  meum 2 
eructavit,  that  is  to  say,  I  was  like  to  burst  with 
fear !  but  I  conceive  they  may  be— what  of  yeomen— 
what  of  commons,  at  least  five  hundred  men.” 

“What!”  said  the  Templar,  who  came  into  the 

'Luke  X,  30. 

‘Mark  V,  9. 

* ‘My  heart  is  inditing  a  good  matter,”  Psalms  XLV,  1. 


330 


Ivan  hoe 


hall  that  moment,  “muster  the  wasps  so  thick  here? 
It  is  time  to  stifle  such  a  mischievous  brood.”  Then 
taking  ^ront-de-Boeuf  aside,  “Knowest  thou  the 
priest?” 

“He  is  a  stranger  from  a  distant  convent,”  said 
Front-de-Bceuf ;  “I  know  him  not.” 

“Then  trust  him  not  with  thy  purpose  in  words,” 
answered  the  Templar.  “Let  him  carry  a  written 
order  to  De  Bracy’s  company  of  Free  Companions, 
to  repair  instantly  to  their  master’s  aid.  In  the 
meantime,  and  that  the  shaveling  may  suspect  noth¬ 
ing,  permit  him  to  go  freely  about  his  task  of  pre¬ 
paring  these  Saxon  hogs  for  the  slaughter-house.” 

“It  shall  be  so,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf.  And  he 
forthwith  appointed  a  domestic  to  conduct  Wamba 
to  the  apartment  where  Cedric  and  Athelstane  were 
confined. 

The  impatience  of  Cedric  had  been  rather  en¬ 
hanced  than  diminished  by  his  confinement.  He 
walked  from  one  end  of  the  hall  to  the  other,  with  the 
attitude  of  one  who  advances  to  charge  an  enemy,  or 
to  storm  the  breach  of  a  beleaguered  place,  some¬ 
times  ejaculating  to  himself,  sometimes  addressing 
Athelstane,  who  stoutly  and  stoically  awaited  the 
issue  of  the  adventure,  digesting,  in  the  meantime, 
with  great  composure,  the  liberal  meal  which  he  had 
made  at  noon,  and  not  greatly  interesting  himself 
about  the  duration  of  his  captivity,  which,  he  con¬ 
cluded,  would,  like  all  earthly  evils,  find  an  end  in 
Heaven’s  good  time. 

“Pax  v  obis  cum,”  said  the  Jester,  entering  the 
apartment;  “the  blessing  of  St.  Dunstan,  St.  Dennis, 
St.  Duthoc  and  all  other  saints  whatsoever,  be  upon 
ye  and  about  ye.” 

“Enter  freely,”  answered  Cedric  to  the  supposed 
friar;  “with  what  intent  art  thou  come  hither 7" 


IVANHOE 


331 


“To  bid  you  prepare  yourselves  for  death,”  an¬ 
swered  the  Jester. 

“It  is  impossible!”  replied  Cedric,  starting. 

“Fearless  and  wicked  as  they  are,  they  dare  not 
attempt  such  open  and  gratuitous  cruelty!” 

“Alas!”  said  the  Jester,  “to  restrain  them  by 
their  sense  of  humanity  is  the  same  as  to  stop  a  runa¬ 
way  horse  with  a  bridle  of  silk  thread.  Bethink 
thee,  therefore,  noble  Cedric,  and  you  also,  gallant 
Athelstane,  what  crimes  you  have  committed  in  the 
flesh;  for  this  very  day  will  ye  be  called  to  answer  at 
a  higher  tribunal.” 

“Hearest  thou  this,  Athelstane?”  said  Cedric; 
“we  must  rouse  up  our  hearts  to  this  last  action,  since 
better  it  is  we  should  die  like  men,  than  live  like 
slaves.” 

“I  am  ready,”  answered  Athelstane,  “to  stand  the 
worst  of  their  malice,  and  shall  walk  to  my  death 
with  as  much  composure  as  ever  I  did  to  my 
dinner.” 

“Let  us  then  unto  our  holy  gear,1  father,”  said 
Cedric. 

“Wait  yet  a  moment,  good  uncle,”  said  the  Jester, 
in  his  natural  tone;  “better  look  long  before  you 
leap  in  the  dark.” 

“By  my  faith,”  said  Cedric,  “I  should  know  that 
voice!” 

“It  is  that  of  your  trusty  slave  and  jester,”  an¬ 
swered  Wamba,  throwing  back  his  cowl.  Had  you 
taken  a  fool’s  advice  formerly,  you  would  not  have 
been  here  at  all.  Take  a  fool’s  advice  now,  and  you 
will  not  be  here  long.” 

“How  mean’st  thou,  knave?”  answered  the  Saxon. 

“Even  thus,”  replied  Wamba;  “take  thou  this 
frock  and  cord,  which  are  all  the  orders  I  ever  had, 


^oly  Business. 


382 


Ivan  hoe 


and  march  quickly  out  of  the  castle,  leaving  me  your 
cloak  and  girdle  to  take  the  long  leap  in  thy  stead.” 

“Leave  thee  in  my  stead!”  said  Cedric,  aston¬ 
ished  at  the  proposal;  “why,  they  would  hang  thee, 
my  poor  knave.” 

“E’en  let  them  do  as  they  are  permitted,”  said 
Wamba;  “I  trust — no  disparagement  to  your  birth 
— that  the  son  of  Witless  may  hang  in  a  chain  with  as 
much  gravity  as  the  chain1  hung  upon  his  ancestor 
the  alderman.” 

“Well,  Wamba,”  answered  Cedric,  “for  one  thing 
will  I  grant  thy  request.  And  that  is,  if  thou  wilt 
make  the  exchange  of  garments  with  Lord  Athel¬ 
stane  instead  of  me.” 

“No,  by  St.  Dunstan,”  answered  Wamba;  “there 
were  little  reason  in  that.  Good  right  there  is,  that 
the  son  of  Witless  should  suffer  to  save  the  son  of 
Hereward;  but  little  wisdom  there  were  in  his  dying 
for  the  benefit  of  one  whose  fathers  were  strangers 
to  his.” 

“Villain,”  said  Cedrick,  “the  fathers  of  Athelstane 
were  monarchs  of  England!” 

“They  might  be  whomsoever  they  pleased,”  replied 
Wamba;  “but  my  neck  stands  too  straight  upon  my 
shoulders  to  have  it  twisted  for  their  sake.  Where¬ 
fore,  good  my  master,  either  take  my  proffer  your¬ 
self,  or  suffer  me  to  leave  this  dungeon  as  free  as  I 
entered.” 

“Let  the  old  tree  wither,”  continued  Cedric,  “so 
the  stately  hope  of  the  forest  be  preserved.  Save 
the  noble  Athelstane,  my  trusty  Wamba!  it  is  the 
duty  of  each  who  has  Saxon  blood  in  his  veins.  Thou 
and  I  will  abide  together  the  utmost  rage  of  our 
injurious  oppressors,  while  he,  free  and  safe,  shall 


‘Symbol  or  official  badge  of  an  alderman. 


Ivan  hoe 


333 


arouse  the  awakened  spirits  of  our  countrymen  to 
avenge  us/’ 

“Not  so,  father  Cedric,”  said  Athelstane,  grasping 
his  hand, — for,  when  roused  to  think  or  act,  his  deeds 
and  sentiments  were  not  unbecoming  his  high  race. 
—“Not  so,”  he  continued,  “I  would  rather  remain 
in  this  hall  a  week  without  food  save  the  prisoner’s 
[  stinted  loaf,  or  drink  save  the  prisoner’s  measure  of 
;  water,  than  embrace  the  opportunity  to  escape  which 
the  slave’s  untaught  kindness  has  purveyed  for  his 


master.” 

“You  are  called  wise  men,  sirs,”  said  the  Jester, 
“and  I  a  crazed  fool;  but,  uncle  Cedric,  and  cousin 
Athelstane,  the  fool  shall  decide  this  controversy  for 
ye,  and  save  ye  the  trouble  of  straining  courtesies  any 
farther  I  am  like  John-a-Duck’s  mare,  that  will  let 
no  man  mount  her  but  John-a-Duck.  I  came  to  save 
my  master,  and  if  he  will  not  consent— basta— I  can 
but  go  away  home  again.  Kind  service  cannot  be 
chucked  from  hand  to  hand  like  a  shuttle-cock  or 
stool-ball.  I’ll  hang  for  no  man  but  my  own  born 


master.”  ,  ,  ,  „ 

“Go  then,  noble  Cedric,”  said  Athelstane,  neg¬ 
lect  not  this  opportunity.  Your  presence  without 
may  encourage  friends  to  our  rescue— your  remain- 
ing  here  will  ruin  us  all.” 

“And  is  there  any  prospect,  then,  of  rescue  from 
without?”  said  Cedric,  looking  to  the  Jester. 

“Prospect,  indeed!”  echoed  Wamba;  “let  me  tell 
you,  when  you  fill  my  cloak,  you  are  wrapped  in  a 
general’s  cossack.  Five  hundred  men  are  there 
without,  and  I  was  this  morning  one  of  their  chief 
leaders  My  fool’s  cap  was  a  casque,  and  my  bauble 
a  truncheon.  Well,  we  shall  see  what  good  they  will 
make  by  exchanging  a  fool  for  a  wise  man.  Truly, 
I  fear  they  will  lose  in  valor  what  they  may  gam  m 
discretion.  And  so  farewell,  master,  and  be  kind  to 


334 


Ivan  hoe 


poor  Gurth  and  his  dog  Fangs;  and  let  my  cockscomb 
hang  in  the  hall  at  Rotherwood,  in  memory  that  I 
flung  away  my  life  for  my  master,  like  a  faithful — 
fool.” 

The  last  word  came  out  with  a  sort  of  double  ex¬ 
pression,  betwixt  jest  and  earnest.  The  tears  stood 
in  Cedric’s  eyes. 

“Thy  memory  shall  be  preserved,”  he  said,  “while 
fidelity  and  affection  have  honor  upon  earth!  But 
that  I  trust  I  shall  find  the  means  of  saving  Rowena, 
and  4hee,  Athelstane,  and  thee  also,  my  poor  Wamba, 
thou  shouldst  not  overbear  me  in  this  matter.” 

The  exchange  of  dress  was  now  accomplished,  when 
a  sudden  doubt  struck  Cedric. 

“I  know  no  language,”  he  said,  “but  my  own, 
and  a  few  words  of  their  mincing  Norman.  How 
shall  I  bear  myself  like  a  reverend  brother?” 

“The  spell  lies  in  two  words,”  replied  Wamba — 
“Pax  vobiscum  will  answer  all  queries.  If  you  go 
or  come,  eat  or  drink,  bless  or  ban,  Pax  vobiscum 
carries  you  through  it  all.  It  is  as  useful  to  a  friar 
as  a  broomstick  to  a  witch,  or  a  wand  to  a  conjurer. 
Speak  it  but  thus,  in  a  deep  grave  tone, — Pax  vo¬ 
biscum!— it  is  irresistible.  Watch  and  ward,  knight 
and  squire,  foot  and  horse,  it  acts  as  a  charm  upon 
them  all.  I  think,  if  they  bring  me  out  to  be  hanged 
to-morrow,  as  is  much  to  be  doubted  they  may,  I  will 
try  its  weight  upon  the  finisher  of  the  sentence.” 

“If  such  prove  the  case,”  said  his  master,  “my 
religious  orders  are  soon  taken —  Pax  vobiscum.  I 
trust  I  shall  remember  the  password. — Noble  Athel¬ 
stane,  farewell ;  and  farewell,  my  poor  boy,  whose 
heart  might  make  amends  for  a  weaker  head — I  will 
save  you,  or  return  and  die  with  you.  The  royal 
blood  of  our  Saxon'  kings  shall  not  be  spilt  while 
mine  beats  in  my  veins;  nor  shall  one  hair  fall  from 
the  head  of  the  kind  knave  who  risked  himself  for  his 


IVANHOE 


335 


master,  if  Cedric’s  peril  can  prevent  it. — Farewell.” 

“Farewell,  noble  Cedric,”  said  Athelstane,”  “re¬ 
member  it  is  the  true  part  of  a  friar  to  accept  refresh¬ 
ment,  if  you  are  offered  any.” 

“Farewell,  uncle,”  added  Wamba;  “and  remem¬ 
ber  Pax  vobiscum.” 

Thus  exhorted,  Cedric  sallied  forth  upon  his  ex¬ 
pedition;  and  it  was  not  long  ere  he  had  occasion  to 
try  the  force  of  that  spell  which  his  Jester  had  recom¬ 
mended  as  omnipotent.  In  a  low-arched  and  dusky 
passage,  by  which  he  endeavored  to  work  his  way  to 
the  hall  of  the  castle,  he  was  interrupted  by  a  female 
form. 

<(Pax  vobiscum!”  said  the  pseudo  friar,  and  was 
endeavoring  to  hurry  past,  when  a  soft  voice  replied, 
“Et  v obisx .  quaesof  domine  reverendissime,  pro 
misericordia  vestra.” 

“I  am  somewhat  deaf,”  replied  Cedric,  in  good 
Saxon,  and  at  the  same  time  muttered  to  himself,  “A 
curse  on  the  fool  and  his  Pax  vobiscuml  I  have  lost 
my  javelin  at  the  first  cast.” 

It  was,  however,  no  unusual  thing  for  a  priest  of 
those  days  to  be  deaf  of  his  Latin  ear,  and  this  the 
person  who  now  addressed  Cedric  knew  full  well. 

“I  pray  you,  of  dear  love,  reverend  father,”  she 
replied  in  his  own  language,  “that  you  will  deign 
to  visit  with  your  ghostly  comfort  a  wounded  pris¬ 
oner  of  this  castle;  and  have  such  compassion  upon 
him  and  us  as  thy  holy  office  teaches.  Never  shall 
good  deed  so  highly  advantage  thy  convent. 

“Daughter,”  answered  Cedric,  much  embarrassed, 
“my  time  in  this  castle  will  not  permit  me  to  exercise 
the  duties  of  mine  office— I  must  presently  forth— 
there  is  life  and  death  upon  my  speed.” 

“Yet,  father,  let  me  entreat  you  by  the  vow  you 


And  with  you — I  beg,  most  reverend  master,  your  pity. 


386 


Ivan  hoe 


have  taken  on  you,”  replied  the  suppliant,  ‘‘not  to 
leave  the  oppressed  and  endangered  without  counsel 
or  succor.” 

“May  the  fiend  fly  away  with  me,  and  leave  me  in 
Ifrin  with  the  souls  of  Odin  and  Thor!”  answered 
Cedric,  impatiently,  and  would  probably  have  pro¬ 
ceeded  in  the  same  tone  of  total  departure  from  his 
spiritual  character,  when  the  colloquy  was  interrupted 
by  the  harsh  voice  of  Urfried,  the  old  crone  of  the 
turret. 

“How,  minion,”  said  she  to  the  female  speaker,  “is 
this  the  manner  in  which  you  requite  the  kindness 
which  permitted  thee  to  leave  thy  prison-cell  yonder? 
— Puttest  thou  the  reverend  man  to  use  ungracious 
language  to  free  himself  from  the  importunities  of  a 
Jewess?” 

“A  Jewess!”  said  Cedric,  availing  himself  of  the 
information  to  get  clear  of  their  interruption, — “Let 
me  pass,  woman!  stop  me  not  at  your  peril.  I  am 
fresh  from  my  holy  office,  and  would  avoid  pollu¬ 
tion.” 

“Come  this  way,  father,”  said  the  old  hag;  “thou 
art  a  stranger  in  this  castle,  and  canst  not  leave  it 
without  a  guide.  Come  hither,  for  I  would  speak 
with  thee. —  And  you,  daughter  of  .an  accursed  race, 
go  to  the  sick  man’s  chamber,  and  tend  him  until  my 
return;  and  woe  betide  you  if  you  again  quit  it  with¬ 
out  my  permission!” 

Rebecca  retreated.  Her  importunities  had  pre¬ 
vailed  upon  Urfried  to  suffer  her  to  quit  the  turret, 
and  Urfried  had  employed  her  services  where  she 
herself  would  most  gladly  have  paid  them,  by  the  bed¬ 
side  of  the  wounded  Ivanhoe.  With  an  understand¬ 
ing  awake  to  their  dangerous  situation,  and  prompt 
to  avail  herself  of  each  means  of  safety  which  oc- 


*Two  deities  of  Norse  mythology.  Ifrin  meant  hell. 


IVANHOE 


337 


urred,  Rebecca  had  hoped  something  from  the  pres- 
nce  of  a  man  of  religion,  who,  she  learned  from 
Jrfried,  had  penetrated  into  this  godless  castle.  She 
matched  the  return  of  the  supposed  ecclesiastic,  with 
he  purpose  of  addressing  him,  and  interesting  him 
n  favor  of  the  prisoners,  with  what  imperfect  suc- 
ess  the  reader  has  been  just  acquainted. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


Fond  wretch !  and  what  canst  thou  relate. 

But  deeds  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin? 

Thy  deeds  are  proved — thou  know’st  thy  fate ; 

But  come,  thy  tale — begin — begin. 

****** 

But  I  have  griefs  of  other  kind, 

Troubles  and  sorrows  more  severe; 

Give  me  to  ease  my  tortured  mind, 

Lend  to  my  woes  a  patient  ear ; 

And  let  me,  if  I  may  not  find 

A  friend  to  help — find  one  to  hear. 

Orabbe’s  Ball  of  Justice. 

When  Urfried  had  with  clamors  and  menaces  driv¬ 
en  Rebecca  back  to  the  apartment  from  which  she 
had  sallied,  she  proceeded  to  conduct  the  unwilling 
Cedric  into  a  small  apartment,  the  door  of  which  she 
heedfully  secured.  Then  fetching  from  a  cupboard  a 
stoup  of  wine  and  two  flagons,  she  placed  them  on  the 
table,  and  said  in  a  tone  rather  asserting  a  fact  than 
asking  a  question,  “Thou  art  Saxon,  father. — Deny  it 
not,”  she  continued,  observing  that  Cedric  hastened 
not  to  reply;  “the  sounds  of  my  native  language  are 
sweet  to  mine  ears,  though  seldom  heard,  save  from 
the  tongues  of  the  wretched  and  degraded  serfs  on 
whom  the  proud  Normans  impose  the  meanest  drudg¬ 
ery  of  this  dwelling.  Thou  art  a  Saxon,  father — a 
Saxon,  and,  save  as  thou  are  a  servant  of  God,  a  free¬ 
man. — Thine  accents  are  sweet  in  mine  ear.” 

“Do  not  Saxon  priests  visit  this  castle,  then?”  re¬ 
plied  Cedric;  “it  were,  methinks,  their  duty  to  com¬ 
fort  the  outcast  and  oppressed  children  of  the  soil.” 

“They  come  not,  or  if  they  come,  they  better  love 
to  revel  at  the  boards  of  their  conquerors,”  answered 
Urfried,  “than  to  hear  the  groans  of  their  country¬ 
men — so,  at  least,  report  speaks  of  them — of  myself 


IVANHOE 


339 


[  can  say  little.  This  castle,  for  ten  years,  has  opened 
bo  no  priest  save  the  debauched  Norman  chaplain  who 
partook  the  nightly  revels  of  Front-de-Boeuf,  and  he 
has  been  long  gone  to  render  an  account  of  his  stew¬ 
ardship —But  thou  art  a  Saxon— a  Saxon  priest,  and 
I  have  one  question  to  ask  of  thee.” 

“I  am  a  Saxon,”  answered  Cedric,  “but  unworthy, 
surely*  of  the  name  of  priest.  Let  me  begone  on  my 
way. — i  swear  I  will  return,  or  send  one  of  our  fath¬ 
ers  more  worthy  to  hear  your  confession.” 

“Stay  yet  a  while,”  said  Urfried;  “the  accents  of 
the  voice  which  thou  hearest  now  will  soon  be  choked 
with  the  cold  earth,  and  I  would  not  descend  to  it  like 
the  beast  I  have  lived.  But  wine  must  give  me 
strength  to  tell  the  horrors  of  my  tale.”  She  poured 
out  a  cup,  and  drank  it  with  a  frightful  avidity, 
which  seemed  desirous  of  draining  the  last  drop  in 
the  goblet.  “It  stupefies,”  she  said,  looking  upwards 
as  she  finished  her  draught,  “but  it  cannot  cheer.— 
Partake  it,  father,  if  you  would  hear  my  tale  without 
sinking  down  upon  the  pavement.”  Cedric  would 
have  avoided  pledging  her  in  this  ominous  convivial¬ 
ity,  but  the  sign  which  she  made  to  him  expressed  im¬ 
patience  and  despair.  He  complied  with  her  request, 
and  answered  her  challenge  in  a  large  wine-cup ,  she 
ithen  proceeded  with  her  story,  as  if  appeased  by  his 

complaisance.  ,  , ,  , 

<(I  Was  not  born,”  she  said,  “father,  the  wretch  that 
thou  now  seest  me.  I  was  free,  was  happy,  was  hon¬ 
ored  loved,  and  was  beloved.  I  am  now  a  slave,  mis¬ 
erable  and  degraded— the  sport  of  my  masters'  pas¬ 
sions  while  I  had  yet  beauty— the  object  of  their  con¬ 
tempt,  scorn,  and  hatred,  since  it  has  passed  away. 
Dost  thou  wonder,  father,  that  I  should  hate  mankind, 
and,  above  all,  the  race  that  has  wrought  this  change 
in  me?  Can  the  wrinkled  decrepit  hag  before  thee, 
whose  wTrath  must  vent  itself  in  impotent  curses,  for- 


340 


IVANHOE 


get  she  was  once  the  daughter  of  the  noble  Thane  of 
Torquilstone,  before  whose  frown  a  thousand  vassals 
trembled?” 

“Thou  the  daughter  of  Torquil  Wolfganger!”  said 
Cedric,  receding  as  he  spoke ;  “thou — thou — the 
daughter  of  that  noble  Saxon,  my  father's  friend  and 
companion  in  arms!” 

“Thy  father’s  friend!”  echoed  Urfried;  “then 
Cedric  called  the  Saxon  stands  before  me,  for  the 
noble  Hereward  of  Rotherwood  had  but  one  son, 
whose  name  is  well  known  among  his  countrymen. 
But  if  thou  are  Cedric  of  Rotherwood,  why  this  relig¬ 
ious  dress? — Hast  thou  too  despaired  of  saving  thy 
country,  and  sought  refuge  from  oppression  in  the 
shade  of  the  convent?” 

“It  matters  not  who  I  am,”  said  Cedric;  “proceed, 
uphappy  woman,  with  thy  tale  of  horror  and  guilt! — 
Guilt  there  must  be — there  is  guilt  even  in  thy  liv¬ 
ing  to  tell  it.” 

“There  is — there  is,”  answered  the  wretched  woman, 
deep,  black,  damning  guilt, — guilt  that  lies  like  a  load 
at  my  breast— guilt  that  all  the  penitential  fires  of 
hereafter  cannot  cleanse. — Yes,  in  these  halls,  stained 
with  the  noble  and  pure  blood  of  my  father  and  my 
brethren — in  these  very  halls,  to  have  lived  the  para¬ 
mour  of  their  murderer,  the  slave  at  once  and  the 
partaker  of  his  pleasures,  was  to  render  every  breath 
which  I  drew  of  vital  air,  a  crime  and  a  curse.” 

“Wretched  woman!”  exclaimed  Cedric.  “And  while 
the  friends  of  thy  father — while  each  true  Saxon  heart, 
as  it  breathed  a  requiem  for  his  soul,  and  those  of 
his  valiant  sons,  forgot  not  in  their  prayers  the  mur¬ 
dered  Ulrica — while  all  mourned  and  honored  the 
dead,  thou  hast  lived  to  merit  our  hate  and  execra¬ 
tion-lived  to  unite  thyself  with  the  vile  tyrant  who 
murdered  thy  nearest  and  dearest— who  shed  the 
blood  of  infancy,  rather  than  a  male  of  the  noble 


IVANHOE 


341 


house  of  Torquil  Wolf  ganger  should  survive — with 
him  hast  thou  lived  to  unite  thyself,  and  in  the  bands 
of  lawless  love!” 

“In  lawless  bands,  indeed,  but  not  in  those  of  love!” 
answered  the  hag;  “love  will  sooner  visit  the  regions 
of  eternal  doom,  than  those  unhallowed  vaults.  No, 
with  that  at  least  I  cannot  reproach  myself. — Hatred 
to  Front-de-Bceuf  and  his  race  governed  my  soul  most 
deeply,  even  in  the  hour  of  his  guilty  endearments.” 

“You  hated  him,  and  yet  you  lived,”  replied  Cedric; 
“wretch!  was  there  no  poniard — no  knife — no  bodkin! 
Well  was  it  for  thee,  since  thou  didst  prize  such  an 
existence,  that  the  secrets  of  a  Norman  castle  are 
Hike  those  of  the  grave.  For  had  I  but  dreamed  of 
the  daughter  of  Torquil  living  in  foul  communion 
iwith  the  murderer  of  her  father,  the  sword  of  a  true 
Saxon  had  found  thee  out  even  in  the  arms  of  thy 
paramour!” 

“Wouldst  thou  indeed  have  done  this  justice  to  the 
name  of  Torquil?”  said  Ulrica,  for  we  may  now  lay 
aside  her  assumed  name  of  Urfried;  “thou  art  then 
the  true  Saxon  report  speaks  thee!  for  even  within 
these  accursed  walls,  where,  as  thou  well  sayest,  guilt 
shrouds  itself  in  inscrutable  mystery,  even  there  has 
the  name  of  Cedric  been  sounded — and  I,  wretched 
and  degraded,  have  rejoiced  to  think  that  there  yet 
breathed  an  avenger  of  our  unhappy  nation.— I  also 
have  had  my  hours  of  vengeance — I  have  fomented 
the  quarrels  of  our  foes,  and  heated  drunken  revelry 
into  murderous  broil — I  have  seen  their  blood  flow 
I  have  heard  their  dying  groans ! — Look  on  me,  Cedric 
I  —are  there  not  still  left  on  this  foul  and  faded  face 
j  some  traces  of  the  features  of  Torquil? 

“Ask  me  not  of  them,  Ulrica,”  replied  Cedric,  in 
a  tone  of  grief  mixed  with  abhorrence ;  “these  traces 
form  such  a  resemblance  as  arises  from  the  grave  of 


342 


IVANHOE 


the  dead,  when  a  fiend  has  animated  the  lifeless 
corpse.” 

“Be  it  so,”  answered  Ulrica;  “yet  wore  these  fiend¬ 
ish  features  the  mask  of  a  spirit  of  light  when  they 
were  able  to  set  at  variance  the  elder  Front-de-Boeuf 
and  his  son  Reginald!  The  darkness  of  hell  should 
hide  what  followed,  but  revenge  must  lift  the  veil, 
and  darkly  intimate  what  it  would  raise  the  dead  to 
speak  aloud.  Long  had  the  smoldering  fire  of  dis¬ 
cord  glowed  between  the  tyrant  father  and  his  sav¬ 
age  son — long  had  I  nursed,  in  secret,  the  unnatural 
hatred.  It  blazed  forth  in  an  hour  of  drunken  was¬ 
sail,  and  at  his  own  board  fell  my  oppressor  by  the 
hand  of  his  own  son.  Such  are  the  secrets  these 
vaults  conceal! — Rend  asunder,  ye  accursed  arches,” 
she  added,  looking  up  towards  the  roof,  “and  bury  in 
your  fall  all  who  are  conscious  of  the  hideous  mys¬ 
tery!” 

“And  thou,  creature  of  guilt  and  misery,”  said 
Cedric,  “what  became  thy  lot  on  the  death  of  thy 
ravisher?” 

“Guess  it,  but  ask  it  not.  Here — here  I  dwelt,  till 
age,  premature  age,  has  stamped  its  ghastly  features 
on  my  countenance — scorned  and  insulted  where  I 
was  once  obeyed,  and  compelled  to  bound  the  revenge 
which  had  once  such  ample  scope,  to  the  efforts  of 
petty  malice  of  a  discontented  menial,  or  the  vain  or 
unheeded  curses  of  an  impotent  hag— condemned  to 
hear  from  my  lonely  turret  the  sounds  of  revelry  in 
which  I  once  partook,  or  the  shrieks  and  groans  of 
new  victims  of  oppression.” 

Ulrica,”  said  Cedric,  “with  a  heart  which  still, 

I  fear,  regrets  the  lost  reward  of  thy  crimes;  as 
much  as  the  deeds  by  which  thou  didst  acquire  that 
meed,  how  didst  thou  dare  to  address  thee  to  one 
who  wears  this  robe?  Consider,  unhappy  woman, 
what  could  the  sainted  Edward  himself  do  for  thee, 


IVANHOE 


343 


were  he  here  in  bodily  presence?  The  royal  Confes¬ 
sor  was  endowed  by  Heaven  with  power  to  cleanse 
the  ulcers  of  the  body,  but  only  God  himself  can  cure 
the  leprosy  of  the  soul.” 

•‘Yet,  turn  not  from  me,  stern  prophet  of  wrath,” 
she  exclaimed,  “but  tell  me,  if  thou  canst,  in  what 
shall  terminate  these  new  and  awful  feelings  th»* 
burst  on  my  solitude— Why  do  deeds,  long  since  done 
rise  before  me  in  new  and  irresistible  horrors?  What 
fate  is  prepared  beyond  the  grave  for  her,  to  whom 
God  has  assigned  on  earth  a  lot  of  such  unspeakable 
wretchedness?  Better  had  I  turn  to  Woden,  Hertha, 
and  Zernebock— to  Mista,  and  to  Skogula,  the  gods  of 
our  yet  unbaptized  ancestors,  than  endure  the  dread¬ 
ful  anticipations  which  have  of  late  haunted  my  wak¬ 
ing  and  my  sleeping  hours!” 

“I  am  no  priest,”  said  Cedric,  turning  with  dis¬ 
gust  from  this  miserable  picture  of  guilt,  wretched¬ 
ness,  and  despair;  “I  am  no  priest,  though  I  wear  a 
priest’s  garment.” 

“Priest  or  layman,”  answered  Ulrica,  “thou  art  the 
first  I  have  seen  for  twenty  years,  by  whom  God  was 
reared  or  man  regarded ;  and  dost  thou  bid  me  de¬ 
spair?” 

“I  bid  thee  repent,”  said  Cedric.  “Seek  to  prayer 
and  penance,  and  mayest  thou  find  acceptance !  But 
I  cannot,  I  will  not,  longer  abide  with  thee.” 

“Stay  yet  a  moment!”  said  Ulrica;  “leave  me  not 
now,  son  of  my  father’s  friend,  lest  the  demon  who 
has  governed  my  life  should  tempt  me  to  avenge  my¬ 
self  of  thy  hard-hearted  scorn.  Thinkest  thou,  if 
Front-de-Boeuf  found  Cedric  the  Saxon  in  his  castle, 
in  such  a  disguise,  that  thy  life  would  be  a  long  one? 
_ Already  his  eye  has  been  upon  thee  like  a  falcon  on 

his  prey  ” 

“And  'be  it  so,”  said  Cedric;  “and  let  him  tear  me 
with  beak  and  talons,  ere  my  tongue  say  one  word 


344 


Ivan  hoe 


which  my  heart  doth  not  warrant.  I  will  die  a  Sax¬ 
on — true  in  word,  open  in  deed. — I  bid  thee  avaunt! 
— touch  me  not,  stay  me  not!  The  sight  of  Font-de- 
Boeuf  himself  is  less  odious  to  me  than  thou,  degraded 
and  degenerate  as  thou  art.” 

“Be  it  so,”  said  Ulrica,  no  longer  interrupting 
him,  “go  thy  way,  and  forget,  in  the  insolence  of  thy 
superiority,  that  the  wretch  before  thee  is  the  daugh¬ 
ter  of  thy  father’s  friend — Go  thy  way — If  I  am 
separated  from  mankind  by  my  sufferings — separated 
from  those  whose  aid  I  might  most  justly  expect — 
not  less  will  I  be  separated  from  them  in  my  re¬ 
venge! — No  man  shall  aid  me,  but  the  ears  of  all 
men  shall  tingle  to  hear  of  the  deed  which  I  shall 
dare  to  do! — Farewell! — thy  scorn  has  burst  the 
last  tie  which  seemed  yet  to  unite  me  to  mankind — a 
thought  that  my  woes  might  claim  the  compassion  of 
my  people.” 

“Ulrica,”  said  Cedric,  softened  by  this  appeal, 
“hast  thou  borne  up  and  endured  to  live  through 
so  much  guilt  and  so  much  misery,  and  wilt  thou 
now  yield  to  despair  when  thine  eyes  are  opened  to 
thy  crimes,  and  when  repentance  were  thy  fitter 
occupation?” 

“Cedric,”  answered  Ulrica,  “thou  little  knowest  the 
human  heart.  To  act  as  I  have  acted,  to  think  as  I 
have  thought,  requires  the  maddening  love  of  pleasure, 
mingled  with  the  keen  appetite  of  revenge,  the  proud 
consciousness  of  power;  draughts  too  intoxicating 
for  the  human  heart  to  bear,  and  yet  retain  the  power 
to  prevent.  Their  force  has  long  passed  away.  Age 
has  no  pleasures,  wrinkles  have  no  influence,  re¬ 
venge  itself  dies  away  in  impotent  curses.  Then 
comes  remorse,  with  all  its  vipers,  mixed  with  vain 
regrets  for  the  past,  and  despair  for  the  future!— 
Then,  when  all  other  strong  impulses  have  ceased,  we 
become  like  the  fiends  in  hell,  who  may  feel  remorse, 


IVANHOE 


345 


but  never  repentance. — But  thy  words  have  awakened 
a  new  soul  within  me.  Well  hast  thou  said,  all  is 
possible  for  those  who  dare  to  die ! — Thou  hast  shown 
me  the  means  of  revenge,  and  be  assured  I  will  em¬ 
brace  them.  It  has  hitherto  shared  this  wasted  bosom 
with  other  and  with  rival  passions — henceforward 
!  it  shall  possess  me  wholly,  and  thou  thyself  shalt  say, 
that,  whatever  was  the  life  of  Ulrica,  her  death  well 
became  the  daughter  of  the  noble  Torquil.  There  is  a 
force  without  beleaguering  this  accursed  castle.  Has¬ 
ten  to  lead  them  to  the  attack,  and  when  thou  shalt 
see  a  red  flag  wave  from  the  turret  on  the  eastern 
angle  of  the  donjon,  press  the  Normans  hard — they 
I  will  then  have  enough  to  do  within,  and  you  may  win 
the  wall  in  spite  both  of  bow  and  mangonel. — Begone, 

:  I  pray  thee — follow  thine  own  fate,  and  leave  me  to 
mine.” 

Cedric  would  have  inquired  farther  into  the  pur¬ 
pose  which  she  thus  darkly  announced,  but  the  stern 
voice  of  Front-de-Bceuf  was  heard,  exclaiming, 
“Where  tarries  this  loitering  priest?  By  the  scallop- 
shell  of  Compostella,  I  will  make  a  martyr  of  him, 
if  he  loiters  here  to  hatch  treason  among  my  domes¬ 
tics!” 

“What  a  true  prophet,”  said  Ulrica,  “is  an  evil 
conscience!  But  heed  him  not — out  and  to  thy  peop- 
ple.  Cry  your  Saxon  onslaught,  and  let  them  sing 
j  their  war-song  of  Rollo2,  if  they  will;  vengeance  shall 
bear  a  burden  to  it.” 

As  she  thus  spoke,  she  vanished  through  a  private 
j  door,  and  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf  entered  the  apart¬ 
ment.  Cedric,  with  some  difficulty,  compelled  him- 
!  self  to  make  obeisence  to  the  haughty  Baron,  who 


|  3In  Spain,  the  site  of  a  shrine  of  St.  James  which  was 
i  visited  by  pilgrims. 

2A  Norse  viking,  founder  of  the  Norman  settlement. 


346 


IVANHOE 


returned  his  courtesy  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the 
head. 

“Thy  penitents,  father,  have  made  a  long  shrift — 
it  is  the  better  for  them,  since  it  is  the  last  they  shall 
ever  make.  Hast  thou  prepared  them  for  death  ?” 

“I  found  them,”  said  Cedric,  in  such  French  as  he 
could  command,  “expecting  the  worst,  from  the  moment 
they  knew  into  whose  power  they  had  fallen.” 

“How  now,  Sir  Friar,”  replied  Front-de-Bceuf,  “thy 
speech,  methinks,  smacks  of  a  Saxon  tongue?” 

“I  was  bred  in  the  convent  of  St.  Withold  of  Bur¬ 
ton,”  answered  Cedric. 

“Ay?”  said  the  Baron;  “it  had  been  better  for  thee 
to  have  been  a  Norman,  and  better  for  my  purpose 
too;  but  need  has  no  choice  of  messengers.  That  St. 
Withold’s  of  Burton  is  a  howlet’s  nest  worth  the  harry¬ 
ing.  The  day  will  soon  come  that  the  frock  shall  pro¬ 
tect  the  Saxon  as  little  as  the  mail  coat.” 

“God’s  will  be  done,”  said  Cedric,  in  a  voice  tremu¬ 
lous  with  passion,  which  Front-de-Bceuf  imputed  to 
fear. 

“I  see,”  said  he,  “thou  dreamest  already  that  our 
men-at-arms  are  in  thy  refectory  and  thy  ale-vaults. 
But  do  me  one  cast  of  thy  holy  office,  and,  come  what 
list  of  others,  thou  shalt  sleep  as  safe  in  thy  cell  as  a 
snail  within  his  shell  of  proof.” 

“Speak  your  commands,”  said  Cedric,  with  sup¬ 
pressed  emotion. 

“Follow  me  through  this  passage,  then,  that  I  may 
dismiss  thee  by  the  postern.” 

And  as  he  strode  on  his  way  before  the  supposed 
friar,  Front-de-Bceuf  thus  schooled  him  in  the  part 
which  he  desired  he  should  act. 

“Thou  seest,  Sir  Friar,  yon  herd  of  Saxon  swine, 
who  have  dared  to  environ  this  castle  of  Torquil- 
stone.  Tell  them  whatever  thou  hast  a  mind  of  the 
weakness  of  this  fortalice,  or  aught  else  that  can  de- 


Ivan  hoe 


347 


tain  them  before  it  for  twenty-four  hours.  Mean¬ 
time  bear  thou  this  scroll — But  soft — canst  read,  Sir 
Priest?” 

“Not  a  jot  I,”  answered  Cedric,  “save  on  my  breviary 
and  then  I  know  the  characters,  because  I  have  the 
holy  service  by  heart,  praise  be  Our  Lady  and  St. 
Withold!” 

“The  fitter  messenger  for  my  purpose. — Carry  thou 
this  scroll  to  the  castle  of  Philip  de  Malvoisin;  say  it 
cometh  from  me,  and  is  written  by  the  Templar  Brian 
de  Bois-Guilbert,  and  that  I  pray  him  to  send  it  to 
York  with  all  the  speed  man  and  horse  can  make. 
Meanwhile,  tell  him  to  doubt  nothing,  he  shall  find  us 
whole  and  sound  behind  our  battlement.  Shame  on  it, 
that  we  should  be  compelled  to  hide  thus  by  a  pack 
of  runagates,  who  are  wont  to  fly  even  at  the  flash 
of  our  pennons  and  the  tramp  of  our  horses !  I  say  to 
thee,  priest,  contrive  some  cast  of  thine  art  to  keep 
the  knaves  where  they  are,  until  our  friends  bring 
up  their  lances.  My  vengeance  is  awake,  and  she  is  a 
falcon  that  slumbers  not  till  she  has  been  gorged.  ’ 

“By  my  patron  saint,”  said  Cedric,  with  deeper 
energy  than  became  his  character,  “and  by  every 
saint  who  has  lived  and  died  in  England,  your  com¬ 
mands  shall  be  obeyed!  Not  a  Saxon  shall  stir  from 
before  these  walls,  if  I  have  art  and  influence  to  de¬ 
tain  them  there.”  ,  ,  ., 

“Ha’”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  “thou  changest  thy 
tone  Sir  Priest,  and  speakest  brief  and  bold,  as  if 
thy  heart  were  in  the  slaughter  of  the  Saxon  herd ; 
and  yet  thou  art  thyself  of  kindred  to  the  swine . 

Cedric  was  no  ready  practicer  of  the  art  of  dissim¬ 
ulation,  and  would  at  this  moment  have  been  much 
the  better  of  a  hint  from  Wamba’s  more  fertile  brain. 
But  necessity,  according  to  the  ancient  proverb, 
sharpens  invention,  and  he  muttered  something  under 
his  cowl  concerning  the  men  in  question  being  ex- 


348 


Ivan  hoe 


communicated  outlaws  both  to  church  and  to  king¬ 
dom. 

“Despardieux,”  answered  Front-de-Boeuf,  “thou 
hast  spoken  the  very  truth — I  forgot  that  the  knaves 
can  strip  a  fat  abbot,  as  well  as  if  they  had  been 
born  south  of  yonder  salt  channel.  Was  it  not  he  of 
St.  Ives  whom  they  tied  to  an  oak-tree  and  compelled 
to  sing  a  mass  while  they  were  rifling  his  mails  and 
his  wallets? — No,  by  Our  Lady! — that  jest  was  played 
by  Gualtier  of  Middleton,  one  of  our  own  companions- 
at-arms.  But  they  were  Saxons  who  robbed  the 
chapel  at  St.  Bees  of  cup,  candlestick,  and  chalice, 
were  they  not?” 

“They  were  godless  men,”  answered  Cedric. 

“Ay,  and  they  drank  out  all  the  good  wine  and 
ale  that  lay  in  store  for  many  a  secret  carousal,  when 
ye  pretend  ye  are  but  busied  with  vigils  and  primes! 
— Priest,  thou  art  bound  to  revenge  such  sacrilege.” 

“I  am  indeed  bound  to  vengeance,”  murmured  Ced¬ 
ric;  “Saint  Withold  knows  my  heart.” 

Front-de-Bceuf,  in  the  meanwhile,  led  the  way  to 
a  postern,  where,  passing  the  moat  on  a  single  plank, 
they  reached  a  small  barbican,  or  exterior  defense, 
which  communicated  with  the  open  field  by  a  well- 
fortified  sallyport. 

“Begone,  then;  and  if  thou  wilt  do  mine  errand, 
and  if  thou  return  hither  when  it  is  done,  thou  shalt 
see  Saxon  flesh  cheap  as  ever  was  hog's  in  the  sham¬ 
bles  of  Sheffield.  And,  hark  thee,  thou  seemst  to 
be  a  jolly  confessor — come  hither  after  the  onslaught, 
and  thou  shalt  have  as  much  Malvoisie  as  would  drench 
thy  whole  convent.” 

“Assuredly  we  shall  meet  again,”  answered  Cedric. 

“Something  in  hand  the  whilst,”  continued  the  Nor¬ 
man  ;  and,  as  they  parted  at  the  postern  door,  he  thrust 
into  Cedric's  reluctant  hand  a  gold  byzant,  adding, 


Ivan  hoe 


349 


'‘Remember,  I  will  flay  off  both  cowl  and  skin,  if  thou 
failest  in  thy  purpose.” 

“And  full  leave  will  I  give  thee  to  do  both,”  an¬ 
swered  Cedric,  leaving  the  postern,  and  striding  forth 
over  the  free  field  with  a  joyful  step,  “if,  when  we 
meet  next,  I  deserve  not  better  at  thine  hand.” — 
Turning  then  back  towards  the  castle,  he  threw  the 
piece  of  gold  towards  the  donor,  exclaiming  at  the 
same  time,  “False  Norman,  thy  money  perish  with 
thee!” 

Front-de-Bceuf  heard  the  words  imperfectly,  but 
the  action  was  suspicious.  “Archers,”  he  called  to  the 
warders  on  the  outward  battlements,  “send  me  an 
arrow  through  yon  monk’s  frock!  Yet  stay,”  he  said, 
as  his  retainers  were  bending  their  bows,  “it  avails 
not — we  must  thus  far  trust  him  since  we  have  no 
better  shift.  I  think  he  dares  not  betray  me — at  the 
worst  I  can  but  treat  with  these  Saxon  dogs  whom  I 
have  safe  in  kennel.  Ho!  Giles  jailer,  let  them  bring 
Cedric  of  Rotherwood  before  me,  and  the  other  churl, 
his  companion — him  I  mean  of  Coningsburgh — Athel- 
stane  there,  or  what  call  they  him?  Their  very  names 
are  an  encumbrance  to  a  Norman  knight’s  mouth,  and 
have,  as  it  were,  a  flavor  of  bacon.  Give  me  a  stoup 
of  wine,  as  jolly  Prince  John  said,  that  I  may  wash 
away  the  relish — place  it  in  the  armory,  and  thither 
lead  the  prisoners.” 

His  commands  were  obeyed;  and,  upon  entering 
that  Gothic  apartment,  hung  with  many  spoils  won 
by  his  own  valor  and  that  of  his  father,  he  found  a 
flagon  of  wine  on  the  massive  oaken  table,  and  the 
two  Saxon  captives  under  the  guard  of  four  of  his 
dependents.  Front-de-Boeuf  took  a  long  draught  of 
wine,  and  then  addressed  his  prisoners ;  for  the  man¬ 
ner  in  which  Wamba  drew  the  cap  over  his  face,  the 
change  of  dress,  the  gloomy  and  broken  light,  and 


350 


Ivan  hoe 


the  Baron’s  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the  features 
of  Cedric,  (who  avoided  his  Norman  neighbors,  and 
seldom  stirred  beyond  his  own  domains),  prevented 
him  from  discovering  that  the  most  important  of  his 
captives  had  made  his  escape. 

“Gallants  of  England,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  “how 
relish  ye  your  entertainment  at  Torquilstone? — Are 
ye  yet  aware  what  your  surquedy  and  outrecuidance 
merit,  for  scoffing  at  the  entertainment  of  a  prince 
of  the  House  of  Anjou?— Have  ye  forgotten  how  ye 
requited  the  unmerited  hospitality  of  the  royal  John? 
By  God  and  St.  Dennis,  an  ye  pay  not  the  richer  ran¬ 
som,  I  will  hang  ye  up  by  the  feet  from  the  iron  bars 
of  these  windows,  till  the  kites  and  hooded  crows  have 
made  skeletons  of  you! — Speak  out,  ye  Saxon  dogs — 
what  bid  ye  for  your  worthless  lives? — How  say  you, 
you  of  Rotherwood?” 

“Not  a  doit  I,”  answered  poor  Wamba — “and  for 
hanging  up  by  the  feet,  my  brain  has  been  topsy¬ 
turvy,  they  say,  ever  since  the  biggin  was  bound  first 
round  my  head ;  so  turning  me  upside  down  may  per- 
adventure  restore  it  again.” 

“St.  Genevieve!”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  “what  have 
we  got  here?” 

And  with  the  back  of  his  hand  he  struck  Cedric’s 
cap  from  the  head  of  the  Jester,  and  throwing  open 
his  collar,  discovered  the  fatal  badge  of  servitude, 
the  silver  collar  round  his  neck. 

“Giles — Clement — dogs  and  varlets!”  exclaimed  the 
furious  Norman,  “what  have  you  brought  me  here?” 

“I  think  I  can  tell  you,”  said  De  Bracy,  who  just 
entered  the  apartment.  “This  is  Cedric’s  clown,  who 
fought  so  manful  a  skirmish  with  Isaac  of  York  about 
a  question  of  precedence.” 

“I  shall  settle  it  for  them  both,”  replied  Front-de- 


^‘Insolence  and  presumption.”  (Scoffs  note.) 


IVANHOE 


351 


Boeuf;  “they  shall  hang  on  the  same  gallows,  unless 
his  master  and  this  boar  of  Coningsburgh  will  pay 
well  for  their  lives.  Their  wealth  is  the  least  they 
can  surrender;  they  must  also  carry  off  with  them 
the  swarms  that  are  besetting  the  castle,  subscribe 
a  surrender  of  their  pretended  immunities,  and  live 
under  us  as  serfs  and  vassals;  too  happy  if,  in  the 
new  world  that  is  about  to  begin,  we  leave  them  the 
breath  of  their  nostrils.— Go,”  said  he  to  two  of  his 
attendants,  “fetch  me  the  right  Cedric  hither,  and  I 
pardon  your  error  for  once;  the  rather  that  you  but 
mistake  a  fool  for  a  Saxon  franklin.” 

“Ay,  but,”  said  Wamba,  “your  chivalrous  excellency 
will  find  there  are  more  fools  than  franklins  among 
us.” 

“What  means  the  knave?”  said  Front-de-Bceuf, 
looking  towards  his  followers,  who,  lingering  and 
loath,  faltered  forth  their  belief,  that  if  this  were 
not  Cedric  who  was  there  in  presence,  they  knew  not 
what  was  become  of  him. 

“Saints  of  Heaven!”  exclaimed  De  Bracy,  “he  must 
have  escaped  in  the  monk’s  garments !” 

“Fiends  of  hell!”  echoed  Front-de-Boeuf,  “it  was 
then  the  boar  of  Rotherwood  whom  I  ushered  to  the 
postern,  and  dismissed  with  my  own  hands!— And 
thou,”  he  said  to  Wamba,  “whose  folly  could  overreach 
the  wisdom  of  idiots  yet  more  gross  than  thyself 
I  will  give  thee  holy  orders— I  will  shave  thy  crown 
for  thee ! — Here,  let  them  tear  the  scalp  from  his  head, 
and  then  pitch  him  headlong  from  the  battlements— 
Thy  trade  is  to  jest,  canst  thou  jest  now?” 

“You  deal  with  me  better  than  your  word,  noble 
knight,”  whimpered  forth  poor  Wamba,  whose  habits 
of  buffoonery  were  not  to  be  overcome  even  by  the 
immediate  prospect  of  death;  “if  you  give  me  the  red 
cap  you  propose,  out  of  a  simple  monk  you  will  make 
a  cardinal.” 


352 


IVANIIOE 


“The  poor  wretch,”  said  De  Bracy,  “is  resolved  to 
die  in  his  vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf,  you  shall  not 
slay  him.  Give  him  to  me  to  make  sport  for  my 
Free  Companions. — How  sayest  thou,  knave?  Wilt 
thou  take  heart  of  grace,  and  go  to  the  wars  with 
me?” 

“Ay,  with  my  master’s  leave,”  said  Wamba;  “for 
look  you,  I  must  not  slip  collar”  (and  he  touched  that 
which  he  wore)  “without  his  permission.” 

“Oh,  a  Norman  saw  will  soon  cut  a  Saxon  collar,” 
said  De  Bracy. 

“Ay,  noble  sir,”  said  Wamba,  “and  thence  goes  the 
proverb — 

“  ‘Norman  saw  on  English  oak, 

On  English  neck  a  Norman  yoke ; 

Norman  spoon  in  English  dish, 

And  England  ruled  as  Normans  wish; 

Blithe  world  to  England  never  will  be  more, 

Till  England's  rid  of  all  the  four.’  ” 

“Thou  dost  well,  De  Bracy,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf, 
“to  stand  there  listening  to  a  fool’s  jargon,  when 
destruction  is  gaping  for  us!  Seest  thou  not  we  are 
overreached,  and  that  our  proposed  mode  of  com¬ 
munication  with  our  friends  without  has  been  dis¬ 
concerted  by  this  same  motley  gentleman  thou  art  so 
fond  to  brother?  What  views  have  we  to  expect  but 
instant  storm?” 

“To  the  battlements,  then,”  said  De  Bracy;  “when 
didst  thou  ever  see  me  the  graver  for  the  thoughts  of 
battle?  Call  the  Templar  yonder,  and  let  him  fight 
but  half  so  well  for  his  life  as  he  has  done  for  his 
Order. — Make  thou  to  the  walls  thyself  with  thy  huge 
body. — Let  me  do  my  poor  endeavor  in  my  own  way, 
and  I  tell  thee  the  Saxon  outlaws  may  as  well  attempt 
to  scale  the  clouds,,  as  the  castle  of  Torquilstone ;  or,  if 
you  will  treat  with  the  banditti,  why  not  employ  the 


IVANHOE 


353 


lediation  of  this  worthy  franklin,  who  seems  in  such 
eep  contemplation  of  the  wine-flagon? — Here,  Saxon,” 
e  continued,  addressing  Athelstane,  and  handing  the 
up  to  him,  “rinse  thy  throat  with  that  noble  liquor, 
nd  rouse  up  thy  soul  to  say  what  thou  wilt  do  for  thy 
berty.” 

“What  a  man  of  mold  may,”  answered  Athelstane, 
providing  it  be  what  a  man  of  manhood  ought. — 
)ismiss  me  free,  with  my  companions,  and  I  will  pay 

ransom  of  a  thousand  marks.” 

“And  wilt  moreover  assure  us  the  retreat  of  that 
cum  of  mankind  who  are  swarming  around  the  castle, 
ontrary  to  God’s  peace  and  the  king’s?”  said  Front- 
le-Bceuf. 

“In  so  far  as  I  can,”  answered  Athelstane,  “I  will 
withdraw  them;  and  I  fear  not  but  that  my  father 
Cedric  will  do  his  best  to  assist  me.” 

“We  are  agreed  then,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf — “thou 
md  they  are  to  be  set  at  freedom,  and  peace  is  to  be 
>n  both  sides,  for  payment  of  a  thousand  marks.  It 
s  trifling  ransom,  Saxon,  and  thou  wilt  owe  gratitude 
o  the  moderation  which  accepts  of  it  in  exchange  of 
raur  persons.  But  mark,  this  extends  not  to  the 
Tew  Isaac.” 

“Nor  to  the  Jew  Isaac’s  daughter,”  said  the  Tem- 
)lar,  who  had  now  joined  them. 

“Neither,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  “belong  to  this 
Saxon’s  company.” 

“I  were  unworthy  to  be  called  Christian,  if  they 
lid,”  replied  Athelstane;  “deal  with  the  unbelievers 
is  ye  list.” 

“Neither  does  the  ransom  include  the  Lady  Ro- 
wena,”  said  De  Bracy.  “It  shall  never  be  said  I  was 
scared  out  of  a  fair  prize  without  striking  a  blow  for 

it.” 

“Neither,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  “does  our  treaty 
refer  to  this  wretched  Jester,  whom  I  retain,  that  I 


354 


Ivan  hoe 


may  make  him  an  example  to  every  knave  who  turns 
jest  into  earnest.” 

“The  Lady  Rowena,”  answered  Athelstane,  with  the 
most  steady  countenance,  “is  my  affianced  bride.  I 
will  be  drawn  by  wild  horses  before  I  consent  to  part 
with  her.  The  slave  Wamba  has  this  day  saved  the  life 
of  my  father  Cedric.  I  will  lose  mine  ere  a  hair  of  his 
head  be  injured.” 

“Thy  affianced  bride? — The  Lady  Rowena  the  affi¬ 
anced  bride  of  a  vassal  like  thee?”  said  De  Bracy. 
“Saxon,  thou  dreamest  that  the  days  of  thy  seven 
kingdoms  are  returned  again.  I  tell  thee,  the  Princes 
of  the  House  of  Anjou  confer  not  their  wards  on 
men  of  such  lineage  as  thine.” 

“My  lineage,  proud  Norman,”  replied  Athelstane, 
“is  drawn  from  a  source  more  pure  and  ancient  than 
that  of  a  beggardly  Frenchman,  whose  living  is  won 
by  selling  the  blood  of  the  thieves  whom  he  assembles 
under  his  paltry  standard.  Kings  were  my  ancestors, 
strong  in  war  and  wise  in  council,  who  every  day 
feasted  in  their  hall  more  hundreds  than  thou  canst 
number  individual  followers;  whose  names  have  been 
sung  by  minstrels,  and  their  laws  recorded  by  Witten- 
agemotes ;  whose  bones  were  interred  amid  the  prayers 
of  saints,  and  over  whose  tombs  minsters  have  been 
builded.” 

“Thou  hast  it,  De  Bracy,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  well 
pleased  with  the  rebuff  which  his  companion  had  re¬ 
ceived;  “the  Saxon  hath  hit  thee  fairly.” 

“As  fairly  as  a  captive  can  strike,”  said  De  Bracy 
with  apparent  carelessness;  “for  he  whose  hands  are 
tied  should  have  his  tongue  at  freedom. — But  thy 
glibness  of  reply,  comrade,”  rejoined  he,  speaking  to 
Athelstane,  “will  not  win  the  freedom  of  the  Lady 
Rowena.” 

To  this  Athelstane,  who  had  already  made  a  longer 


IVANHOE 


355 


jpeech  than  was  his  custom  to  do  on  any  topic,  how- 
wer  interesting,  returned  no  answer.  The  conversation 
vas  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  a  menial,  who 
announced  that  a  monk  demanded  admittance  at  the 
iostern  gate. 

i  “In  the  name  of  Saint  Bennet,  the  prince  of  these 
bull-beggars,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf,  “have  we  a  real 
|nonk  this  time,  or  another  imposter?  Search  him, 
slaves — for  an  ye  suffer  a  second  imposter  to  be 
Dalmed  upon  you,  I  will  have  your  eyes  torn  out,  and 
lot  coals  put  into  the  sockets.” 

I  “Let  me  endure  the  extremity  of  your  anger,  my 
ord,”  said  Giles,  “if  this  be  not  a  real  shaveling. 
Four  squire  Jocelyn  knows  him  well,  and  will  vouch 
iiim  to  be  brother  Ambrose,  a  monk  in  attendance 
Upon  the  Prior  of  Jorvaulx.” 

|  “Admit  him,”  said  Front-de-Boeuf;  “most  likely 
lie  brings  us  news  from  his  jovial  master.  Surely 
the  devil  keeps  holiday,  and  the  priests  are  relieved 
from  duty,  that  they  are  strolling  thus  wildly  through 
the  country.  Remove  these  prisoners;  and,  Saxon, 
think  on  what  thou  hast  heard.” 

I  “I  claim,”  said  Athelstane,  “an  honorable  imprison- 
jment,  with  due  care  of  my  board  and  of  my  couch,  as 
becomes  my  rank,  and  as  is  due  to  one  who  is  in  treaty 
for  ransom.  Moreover,  I  hold  him  that  deems  himself 
I  the  best  of  you,  bound  to  answer  to  me  with  his  body 
for  this  aggression  on  my  freedom.  This  defiance  hath 
j already  been  sent  to  thee  by  thy  sewer;  thou  underliest 
it,  and  art  bound  to  answer  me.  There  lies  my  glove.” 

“I  answer  not  the  challenge  of  my  prisoner,”  said 
Front-de-Boeuf;  “nor  shalt  thou,  Maurice  De  Bracy. 
—Giles,”  he  continued,  “hang  the  franklin’s  glove 
upon  the  tine  of  yonder  branched  antlers;  there  shall 
I  it  remain  until  he  is  a  free  man.  Should  he  then 
|  presume  to  demand  it,  or  to  affirm  he  was  unlawfully 
made  my  prisoner,  by  the  belt  of  Saint  Christopher, 


856 


Ivan  hoe 


he  will  speak  to  one  who  hath  never  refused  to  meet 
a  foe  on  foot  or  on  horseback,  alone  or  with  his  vas¬ 
sals  at  his  back!” 

The  Saxon  prisoners  were  accordingly  removed, 
just  as  they  introduced  the  monk  Ambrose,  who  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  in  great  perturbation. 

“This  is  the  real  Deus  vobiscum,”1  said  Wamba,  as 
he  passed  the  reverend  brother;  “the  others  were  but 
counterfeits.” 

“Holy  mother!”  said  the  monk,  as  he  addressed 
the  assembled  knights,  “I  am  at  last  safe  and  in  Christ¬ 
ian  keeping!” 

“Safe  thou  art,”  replied  De  Bracy ;  “and  for  Christ¬ 
ianity,  here  is  the  stout  Baron  Reginald  Front-de- 
Boeuf,  whose  utter  abomination  is  a  Jew,  and  the 
Good  Knight  Templar,  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  whose 
trade  is  to  slay  Saracens.  If  these  are  not  good  marks 
of  Christianity,  I  khow  no  other  which  they  bear  about 
them.” 

“Ye  are  friends  and  allies  of  our  reverend  father 
in  God,  Aymer,  Prior  of  Jorvaulx,”  said  the  monk, 
without  noticing  the  tone  of  De  Bracy’s  reply;  “ye 
owe  him  aid  both  by  knightly  faith  and  holy  charity; 
for  what  saith  the  blessed  Saint  Augustine,2 3  in  his 
treatise  De  Civitate  Dei — ” 

“What  saith  the  devil!”  interrupted  Front-de- 
Bceuf;  “or  rather  what  dost  thou  say,  Sir  Priest? 
We  have  little  time  to  hear  texts  from  the  holy  fath¬ 
ers.” 

uSancta  Marial ”*  ejaculated  father  Ambrose, 
“how  prompt  to  ire  are  these  unhallowed  laymen! — 
But  be  it  known  to  you,  brave  knights,  that  certain 

’God  be  with  you. 

2One  of  the  most  noted  Early  Fathers.  His  best  known 
work  was  ‘  The  City  of  God,” 

3Holy  Mary. 


IVANHOE 


357 


murderous  caitiffs,  casting  behind  them  fear  of  God, 
and  reverence  of  his  church,  and  not  regarding  the 
bull  of  the  holy  see,  Si  quis,  suadente  Diabolo1 — ” 

“Brother  priests,”  said  the  Templar,  “all  this  we 
know  or  guess  at — tell  us  plainly,  is  thy  master,  the 
Prior,  made  prisoner,  and  to  whom?” 

“Surely,”  said  Ambrose,  “he  is  in  hands  of  the 
men  of  Belial,2  infesters  of  these  woods,  and  con¬ 
temners  of  the  holy  text,  ‘Touch  not  mine  anointed,  and 
do  my  prophets  naught  of  evil/  ”3 

“Here  is  a  new  argument  for  our  swords,  sirs,” 
said  Front-de-Boeuf,  turning  to  his  companions ;  “and 
so,  instead  of  reaching  us  any  assistance,  the  Prior 
of  Jorvaulx  requests  aid  at  our  hands?  A  man  is 
well  helped  of  these  lazy  churchmen  when  he  hath 
most  to  do! — But  speak  out,  priest,  and  say  at  once, 
what  doth  thy  master  expect  from  us?” 

“So  please  you,”  said  Ambrose,  “violent  hands 
having  been  imposed  on  my  reverend  superior,  con¬ 
trary  to  the  holy  ordinance  which  I  did  already  quote, 
and  the  men  of  Belial  having  rifled  his  mails  and 
budgets,  and  stripped  him  of  two  hundred  marks  of 
pure  refined  gold,  they  do  yet  demand  of  him  a  large 
sum  besides,  ere  they  will  suffer  him  to  depart  from 
their  uncircumcised  hands.  Wherefore  the  reverend 
father  in  God  prays  you,  as  his  dear  friends,  to  rescue 
him,  either  by  paying  down  the  ransom  at  which  they 
hold  him,  or  by  force  of  arms,  at  your  best  discre¬ 
tion.” 

“The  foul  fiend  quell  the  Prior!”  said  Front-de- 
Bceuf ;  “his  morning’s  draught  has  been  a  deep  one. 
When  did  thy  master  hear  of  a  Norman  baron  un¬ 
buckling  his  purse  to  relieve  a  churchman,  whose 


*“If  any  one  under  the  Devil’s  guidance.1 
•Sons  of  the  Devil. 

•Psalms  OV,  15. 


358 


I  VAN  HOE 


bags  are  ten  times  as  weighty  as  ours  ? — And  how  can 
we  do  aught  by  valor  to  free  him,  that  are  cooped  up 
here  by  ten  times  our  number,  and  expect  an  assault 
every  moment?” 

“And  that  was  what  I  was  about  to  tell  you,”  said 
the  monk,  “had  your  hastiness  allowed  me  time.  But, 
God  help  me,  I  am  old,  and  these  foul  onslaughts  dis¬ 
tract  an  aged  man’s  brain.  Nevertheless,  it  is  of 
verity  that  they  assemble  a  camp,  and  raise  a  bank 
against  the  walls  of  this  castle.” 

“To  the  battlements!”  cried  De  Bracy,  “and  let  us 
mark  what  these  knaves  do  without;”  and  so  saying, 
he  opened  a  latticed  window  which  led  to  a  sort  of 
bartizan  or  projecting  balcony,  and  immediately  called 
from  thence  to  those  in  the  apartment —  “Saint 
Dennis,  but  the  old  monk  hath  brought  true  tidings  !-— 
They  bring  forward  mantelets1  and  pavisses,  and  the 
archers  muster  on  the  skirts  of  the  wood  like  a  dark 
cloud  before  a  hailstorm.” 

Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf  also  looked  out  upon  the 
field,  and  immediately  snatched  his  bugle;  and,  after 
winding  a  long  and  loud  blast,  commanded  his  men 
to  their  posts  on  the  walls. 

“De  Bracy,  look  to  the  eastern  side,  where  the  walls 
are  lowest.  Noble  Bois-Guilbert,  thy  trade  hath  well 
taught  thee  how  to  attack  and  defend,  look  thou  to 
the  western  side — I  myself  will  take  post  at  the  bar- 

^‘Temporary  and  movable  defenses  formed  of  planks, 
under  cover  of  which  the  assailants  advanced  to  the  at¬ 
tack  of  fortified  places  of  old.  Pavisses  were  a  species  of 
large  shields  covering  the  whole  person,  employed  on  the 
same  occasions.”  (Scott’s  note.)  “The  bolt  was  the  ar¬ 
row  peculiarly  fitted  to  the  cross  bow,  as  that  of  the 
long-bow  was  called  a  shaft.  Hence  the  English  proverb — 
‘I  will  either  make  a  shaft,  or  bolt  of  it,*  signifying  a  de¬ 
termination  to  make  one  use  or  other  of  the  thing  rspoken 
of”  (Scott’s  note.) 


IVANHOE 


359 


ifican.1  Yet,  do  not  confine  your  exertions  to  any  one 
>pot,  noble  friends !— we  must  this  day  be  everywhere, 
md  multiply  ourselves,  were  it  possible,  so  as  to  carry 
>y  our  presence  succor  and  relief  wherever  the  attack 
s  hottest.  Our  numbers  are  few,  but  activity  and 
Courage  may  supply  that  defect,  since  we  have  only 
;o  do  with  rascal  clowns.” 

“But,  noble  knights,”  exclaimed  Father  Ambrose, 
imidst  the  bustle  and  confusion  occasioned  by  the 
preparations  for  defense,  “will  none  of  ye  hear  the 
nessage  of  the  reverend  father  in  God,  Aymer,  Prior 
}f  Jorvaulx? — I  beseech  thee  to  hear  me,  noble  Sir 
Reginald!” 

“Go  patter  thy  petitions  to  heaven,”  said  the  fierce 
Norman,  “for  we  on  earth  have  no  time  to  listen  to 
them. — Ho!  there,  Anselm!  see  that  seething  pitch 
land  oil  are  ready  to  pour  on  the  heads  of  these  au¬ 
dacious  traitors.  Look  that  the  cross  bowmen  lack 
not  bolts.  Fling  abroad  my  banner  with  the  old  bull’s 
head — the  knaves  shall  soon  find  with  whom  they  have 
to  do  this  day!” 

“But,  noble  sir,”  continued  the  monk,  persevering 
in  his  endeavors  to  draw  attention,  consider  my  vow 
of  obedience,  and  let  me  discharge  myself  of  my  su¬ 
perior’s  errand.” 

“Away  with  this  prating  dotard,”  said  Front-de- 
Bceuf,  “lock  him  up  in  the  chapel,  to  tell  his  beads  till 
the  broil  be  over.  It  will  be  a  new  thing  to  the  saints 
in  Torquilstone  to  hear  aves  and  paters ;  they  have  not 


^‘Every  Gothic  castle  and  city  had,  beyond  the  outer  walls, 
a  fortification  composed  of  palisades,  called  the  barriers, 
which  were  often  the  scene  of  severe  skirmishes,  as  these 
must  necessarily  be  carried  before  the  walls  themselves 
could  be  approached.  Many  of  those  valiant  feats  of  arms 
which  adorn  the  chivalrous  pages  of  Froissart  took  place 
at  the  barriers  of  besieged  places.”  (Scott’s  note.) 


360 


Ivan  hoe 


been  so  honored,  I  trow,  since  they  were  cut  out  o: 
stone.” 

“Blaspheme  not  the  holy  saints,  Sir  Reginald/ 
said  De  Bracy;  “we  shall  have  need  of  their  aid  to-daj 
before  yon  rascal  rout  disband.” 

“I  expect  little  aid  from  their  hand,”  said  Front-de 
Boeuf,  “unless  we  were  to  hurl  them  from  the  battle 
ments  on  the  heads  of  the  villains.  There  is  a  hug( 
lumbering  Saint  Christopher  yonder,  sufficient  to  beai 
a  whole  company  to  the  earth.” 

The  Templar  had  in  the  meantime  been  looking  ow 
on  the  proceedings  of  the  besiegers,  with  rather  more 
attention  than  the  brutal  Front-de-Bceuf  or  his  giddj 
companion. 

“By  the  faith  of  mine  order,”  he  said,  “these  mei 
approach  with  more  touch  of  discipline  than  coulc 
have  been  judged,  however  they  come  by  it.  See 
ye  how  dexterously  they  avail  themselves  of  everj 
cover  which  a  tree  or  bush  affords,  and  shun  exposing 
themselves  to  the  shot  of  our  crossbows  ?  I  spy  neithei 
banner  nor  pennon  among  them,  and  yet  will  I  gage 
my  golden  chain,  that  they  are  led  on  by  some  noble 
knight  or  gentleman,  skillful  in  the  practice  of  wars/ 

“I  espy  him,”  said  De  Bracy ;  “I  see  the  waving  of  a 
knight’s  crest,  and  the  gleam  of  his  armor.  See  yor 
tall  man  in  the  black  mail,  who  is  busied  marshaling 
the  farther  troop  to  the  rascaille  yeoman — by  Sainl 
Dennis,  I  hold  him  to  be  the  same  whom  we  called  Le 
Noir  Faineant,  who  overthrew  thee,  Front-de-Boeuf, 
in  the  lists  of  Ashby.” 

“So  much  the  better,”  said  Front-de-Bceuf,  “that 
he  comes  here  to  give  me  my  revenge.  Some  hilding 
fellow  he  must  be,  who  dared  not  stay  to  assert  his 
claim  to  the  tourney  prize  which  chance  had  assigned 
him.  I  should  in  vain  have  sought  for  him  where 
knights  and  nobles  seek  their  foes,  and  right  glad 


IVANHOE 


361 


am  I  he  hath  here  shown  himself  among  yon  villain 
yeomanry.” 

The  demonstrations  of  the  enemy’s  immediate  ap¬ 
proach  cut  off  all  further  discourse.  Each  knight 
repaired  to  his  post,  and  at  the  head  of  the  few  fol¬ 
lowers  whom  they  were  able  to  muster,  and  who  were 
in  numbers  inadequate  to  defend  the  whole  extent  of 
the  walls,  they  awaited  with  calm  determination  the 
threatened  assault. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


This  wandering  race,  sever’d  from  other  men, 

Boast  yet  their  intercourse  with  human  arts ; 

The  seas,  the  woods,  the  deserts,  which  they  haunt. 

Find  them  acquainted  with  their  secret  treasures ; 

And  unregarded  herbs,  and  flowers,  and  blossoms,  , 

Display  undreamt-of  powers  when  gather’d  by  them. 

The  tfeic. 

Our  history  must  needs  retrograde  for  the  space  of 
a  few  pages,  to  inform  the  reader  of  certain  passages 
material  to  his  understanding  the  rest  of  this  impor¬ 
tant  narrative.  His  own  intelligence  may  indeed 
have  easily  anticipated  that,  when  Ivanhoe  sunk  down, 
and  seemed  abandoned  by  all  the  world,  it  was  the  im¬ 
portunity  of  Rebecca  which  prevailed  on  her  father  to 
have  the  gallant  young  warrior  transported  from  the 
lists  to  the  house  which  for  the  time  the  Jews  inhab¬ 
ited  in  the  suburbs  of  Ashby. 

It  would  not  have  been  difficult  to  have  persuaded 
Isaac  to  this  step  in  any  other  circumstances,  for  his 
disposition  was  kind  and  grateful.  But  he  had  also 
the  prejudices  and  scrupulous  timidity  of  his  per¬ 
secuted  people,  and  those  were  to  be  conquered. 

'‘Holy  Abraham!”  he  exclaimed,  “he  is  a  good 
youth,  and  my  heart  bleeds  to  see  the  gore  trickle 
down  his  rich  embroidered  hacqueton,  and  his  corse¬ 
let  of  goodly  price — but  to  carry  him  to  our  house ! — 
damsel,  hast  thou  well  considered? — he  is  a  Christ- 
tian,  and  by  our  law  we  may  not  deal  with  the 
stranger  and  Gentile,  save  for  the  advantage  of  our 
commerce.” 

“Speak  not  so,  my  dear  father,”  replied  Rebecca; 
“we  may  not  indeed  mix  with  them  in  banquet  and 

Question:  How  many  different  distinct  points  of  inter¬ 
est  are  brought  out  in  this  last  chapter? 


IVANHOE 


363 


in  jollity;  but  in  wounds  and  in  misery,  the  Gentile 
becometh  the  Jew’s  brother.” 

“I  would  I  knew  what  the  Rabbi  Jacob  Ben  Tudela 
would  opine  on  it,”  replied  Isaac; — “nevertheless, 
the  good  youth  must  not  bleed  to  death.  Let  Seth 
and  Reuben  bear  him  to  Ashby.” 

“Nay,  let  them  place  him  in  my  litter,”  said  Re¬ 
becca;  “I  will  mount  one  of  the  palfreys.” 

“That  were  to  expose  thee  to  the  gaze  of  those 
dogs  of  Ishmael  and  of  Edom”1 2  whispered  Isaac,  with 
a  suspicious  glance  towards  the  crowd  of  knights  and 
squires.  But  Rebecca  was  already  busied  in  carrying 
her  charitable  purpose  into  effect,  and  listed  not  what 
j  he  said,  until  Isaac,  seizing  the  sleeve  of  her  mantle, 
again  exclaimed,  in  a  hurried  voice — “Beard  of  Aaron"1 
— what  if  the  youth  perish ! — if  he  die  in  our  custody, 
shall  we  not  be  held  guilty  of  his  blood,  and  be  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  multitude?” 

“He  will  not  die,  my  father,”  said  Rebecca,  gently 
extricating  herself  from  the  grasp  of  Isaac— “he  will 
not  die  unless  we  abandon  him ;  and  if  so,  we  are  indeed 
answerable  for  his  blood  to  God  and  to  man. 

“Nay,”  said  Isaac,  releasing  his  hold,  “it  grieveth 
me  as  much  to  see  the  drops  of  his  blood,  as  if  they 
were  so  many  golden  byzants  from  mine  own  puise, 
and  I  well  know,  that  the  lessons  of  Miriam,  daugh¬ 
ter  of  the  Rabbi  Manasses  of  Byzantium,  whose  soul 
is  in  Paradise,  have  made  thee  skillful  in  the  art  of 
healing,  and  that  thou  knowest  the  craft  of  herbs, 
and  the  force  of  elixirs.3  Therefore,  do  as  thy  mind 
giveth  thee— thou  art  a  good  damsel,  a  blessing,  and 


*A  country  in  Palestine  hostile  to  Israel. 

2Psalm  CXXXIII,  2.  ‘  .  <wi 

3 An  imaginary  cordial  supposed  to  be  capable  of  sustain¬ 
ing  life  indefinitely. 


364 


IVANHOE 


a  crown,  and  a  song  of  rejoicing  unto  me  and  unto 
my  house,  and  unto  the  people  of  my  fathers.” 

The  apprehensions  of  Isaac,  however,  were  not  ill 
founded;  and  the  generous  and  grateful  benevolence 
of  his  daughter  exposed  her,  on  her  return  to  Ashby, 
to  the  unhallowed  gaze  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert. 
The  Templar  twice  passed  and  repassed  them  on  the 
road,  fixing  his  bold  and  ardent  look  on  the  beautiful 
Jewess;  and  we  have  already  seen  the  consequences 
of  the  admiration  which  her  charms  excited,  when 
accident  threw  her  into  the  power  of  that  unprin¬ 
cipled  voluptuary. 

Rebecca  lost  no  time  in  causing  the  patient  to  be 
transported  to  their  temporary  dwelling,  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  with  her  own  hands  to  examine  and  to  bind 
up  his  wounds.  The  youngest  reader  of  romances 
and  romantic  ballads,  must  recollect  how  often  the 
females,  during  the  dark  ages,  as  they  are  called, 
were  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  surgery,  and 
how  frequently  the  gallant  knight  submitted  the 
wounds  of  his  person  to  her  cure,  whose  eyes  had  yet 
more  deeply  penetrated  his  heart. 

But  the  Jews,  both  male  and  female,  possessed  and 
practiced  the  medical  science  in  all  its  branches,  and 
the  monarchs^and  powerful  barons  of  the  time  fre¬ 
quently  committed  themselves  to  the  charge  of  some 
experienced  sage  among  this  despised  people,  when 
wounded  or  in  sickness.  The  aid  of  the  Jewish 
physicians  was  not  the  less  eagerly  sought  after, 
though  a  general  belief  prevailed  among  the  Chris¬ 
tians,  that  the  Jewish  Rabbin  were  deeply  acquainted 
with  the  occult  sciences,  and  particularly  with  the 
cabalistical  art  which  had  its  name  and  origin  in 
the  studies  of  the  sages  of  Israel.  Neither  did  the 
Rabbins  disown  such  acquaintance  with  supernat¬ 
ural  arts,  which  added  nothing  (for  what  could  add 


lVANHOE 


365 


aught?)  to  the  hatred  with  which  their  nation  was 
regarded,  while  it  diminished  the  contempt  with  which 
that  malevolence  was  mingled.  A  Jewish  magician 
might  be  the  subject  of  equal  abhorrence  with  a  Jewish 
usurer,  but  he  could  not  be  equally  despised.  It  is 
besides  probable,  considering  the  wonderful  cures  they 
are  said  to  have  performed,  that  the  Jews  possessed 
some  secrets  of  the  healing  art  peculiar  to  themselves, 
and  which,  with  the  exclusive  spirit  arising  out  of 
their  condition,  they  took  great  care  to  conceal  from 
the  Christians  amongst  whom  they  dwelt. 

The  beautiful  Rebecca  had  been  heedfully  brought 
up  in  all  the  knowledge  proper  to  her  nation,  which 
her  apt  and  powerful  mind  had  retained,  arranged, 
and  enlarged,  in  the  course  of  a  progress  beyond  her 
years,  her  sex,  and  even  the  age  in  which  she  lived. 
Her  knowledge  of  medicine  and  of  the  healing  art 
had  been  acquired  under  an  aged  Jewess,  the  daugh¬ 
ter  of  one  of  their  most  celebrated  doctors,  who  loved 
Rebecca  as  her  own  child,  and  was  believed  to  have 
communicated  to  her  secrets,  which  had  been  left  to 
herself  by  her  sage  father  at  the  same  time,  and 
under  the  same  circumstances.  The  fate  of  Miriam 
had  indeed  been  to  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  fanaticism 
of  the  times;  but  her  secrets  had  survived  in  her  apt 
pupil. 

Rebecca,  thus  endowed  with  knowledge  as  with 
beauty,  was  universally  revered  and  admired  by  her 
own  tribe,  who  almost  regarded  her  as  one  of  those 
gifted  women  mentioned  in  the  sacred  history.  Her 
rather  himself,  out  of  reverence  for  her  talents, 
which  involuntarily  mingled  itself  with  his  unbounded 
affection,  permitted  the  maiden  a  greater  liberty  than 
was  usually  indulged  to  those  of  her  sex  by  the  habits 
of  her  people,  and  was,  as  we  have  just  seen,  fre¬ 
quently  guided  by  her  opinion,  even  in  preference  to 
his  own. 


366 


Ivan  hoe 


When  Ivanhoe  reached  the  habitation  of  Isaac,  he 
was  still  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness,  owing  to  the 
profuse  loss  of  blood  which  had  taken  place  during 
his  exertions  in  the  lists.  Rebecca  examined  the 
wound,  and  having  applied  to  it  such  vulnerary  reme¬ 
dies  as  her  art  prescribed,  informed  her  father  that 
if  fever  could  be  averted,  of  which  the  great  bleeding 
rendered  her  little  apprehensive,  and  if  the  healing 
balsam  of  Miriam  retained  its  virtue,  there  was  noth¬ 
ing  to  fear  for  his  guest’s  life,  and  that  he  might 
with  safety  travel  to  York  with  them  on  the  ensuing 
day.  Isaac  looked  a  little  blank  at  this  annunciation. 
His  charity  would  willingly  have  stopped  short  at 
Ashby,  or  at  most  would  have  left  the  wounded  Chris¬ 
tian  to  be  tended  in  the  house  where  he  was  residing 
at  present,  with  an  assurance  to  the  Hebrew  to  whom 
it  belonged,  that  all  expenses  should  be  duly  dis¬ 
charged.  To  this,  however,  Rebecca  opposed  many 
reasons,  of  which  we  shall  only  mention  two  that  had 
peculiar  weight  with  Isaac.  The  one  was,  that  she 
would  on  no  account  put  the  phial  of  precious  balsam 
into  the  hands  of  another  physician  even  of  her  own 
tribe,  lest  that  valuable  mystery  should  be  discovered ; 
the  other,  that  this  wounded  knight,  Wilfred  of  Ivan¬ 
hoe,  was  an  intimate  favorite  of  Richard  Coeur-de 
Lion,  and  that,  in  case  the  monarch  should  return, 
Isaac,  who  had  supplied  his  brother  John  with  treasure 
to  prosecute  his  rebellious  purposes,  would  stand  in  no 
small  need  of  a  powerful  protector  who  enjoyed 
Richard’s  favor. 

“Thou  art  speaking  but  sooth,  Rebecca,”  said  Isaac, 
giving  way  to  these  weighty  arguments — “it  were  an 
offending  Heaven  to  betray  the  secrets  of  the  blessed 
Miriam;  for  the  good  which  Heaven  giveth,  is  not 
rashly  to  be  squandered  upon  others,  whether  it  be 
talents  of  gold  and  shekels  of  silver,  or  whether  it  be 
the  secret  mysteries  of  a  wise  physician — assuredly 


IVANHOE 


367 


they  should  be  preserved  to  those  to  whom  Providence 
hath  vouchsafed  them.  And  him  whom  the  Nazarenes 
of  England  call  the  Lion’s  Heart,  assuredly  it  were 
better  for  me  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  strong  lion 
of  Idumea  than  into  his,  if  he  shall  have  got  assurance 
of  my  dealing  with  his  brother.  Wherefore  I  will  lend 
ear  to  thy  counsel,  and  this  youth  shall  journey  with 
us  unto  York,  and  our  house  shall  be  as  a  home  to 
him  until  his  wounds  shall  be  healed.  And  if  he  of 
the  Lion  Heart  shall  return  to  the  land,  as  is  now 
noised  abroad,  then  shall  this  Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe  be 
unto  me  as  a  wall  of  defense,  when  the  king’s  dis¬ 
pleasure  shall  burn  high  against  thy  father.  And  if 
he  doth  not  return,  this  Wilfred  may  natheless  repay 
us  our  charges  when  he  shall  gain  treasure  by  the 
I  strength  of  his  spear  and  of  his  sword,  even  as  he  did 
yesterday  and  this  day  also.  For  the  youth  is  a  good 
youth,  and  keepeth  the  day  which  he  appointeth,  and 
|  restoreth  that  which  he  borrowed,  and  succoreth  the 
Israelite,  even  the  child  of  my  father’s  house,  when  he 
is  encompassed  by  strong  thieves  and  sons  of  Belial.” 

It  was  not  until  evening  was  nearly  closed  that 
Ivanhoe  was  restored  to  consciousness  of  his  situa¬ 
tion.  He  awoke  from  a  broken  slumber,  under  the  con¬ 
fused  impressions  which  are  naturally  attendant  on 
the  recovery  from  a  state  of  insensibility.  He  was  un¬ 
able  for  some  time  to  recall  exactly  to  memory  the  cir¬ 
cumstances  which  had  preceded  his  fall  in  the  lists,  or 
to  make  out  any  connected  chain  of  the  events  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged  upon  the  yesterday.  A  sense 
of  wounds  and  injury,  joined  to  great  weakness  and 
exhaustion,  was  mingled  with  the  recollection  of  blows 
dealt  and  received,  of  steeds  rushing  upon  each  other, 
overthrowing  and  overthrown — of  shouts  and  clash¬ 
ing  of  arms,  and  all  the  heady  tumult  of  a  confused 
fight.  An  effort  to  draw  aside  the  curtain  of  his  couch 


368 


IVANITOE 


was  in  some  degree  successful,  although  rendered 
difficult  by  the  pain  of  his  wound. 

To  his  great  surprise  he  found  himself  in  a  room 
magnificently  furnished,  but  having  cushions  instead 
of  chairs  to  rest  upon,  and  in  other  respects  partaking 
so  much  of  oriental  costume,  that  he  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  had  not,  during  his  sleep,  been  tran¬ 
sported  back  again  to  the  land  of  Palestine.  The 
impression  was  increased,  when,  the  tapestry  being 
drawn  aside,  a  female  form,  dressed  in  a  rich  habit, 
which  partook  more  of  the  Eastern  taste  than  that 
of  Europe,  glided  through  the  door,  which  it  con¬ 
cealed,  and  was  followed  by  a  swarthy  domestic. 

As  the  wounded  knight  was  about  to  address  this 
fair  apparition,  she  imposed  silence  by  placing  her 
slender  finger  upon  her  ruby  lips,  while  the  attend¬ 
ant,  approaching  him,  proceeded  to  uncover  Ivanhoe’s 
side,  and  the  lovely  Jewess  satisfied  herself  that  the 
bandage  was  in  its  place,  and  the  wound  doing  well. 
She  performed  her  task  with  a  graceful  and  dignified 
simplicity  and  modesty,  which  might,  even  in  more 
civilized  days,  have  served  to  redeem  it  from  whatever 
might  seem  repugnant  to  female  delicacy.  The  idea 
of  so  young  and  beautiful  a  person  engaged  in  at¬ 
tendance  on  a  sick-bed,  or  in  dressing  the  wound  of 
one  of  a  different  sex,  was  melted  away  and  lost  in 
that  of  a  beneficent  being  contributing  her  effectual 
aid  to  relieve  pain,  and  to  avert  the  stroke  of  death. 
Rebecca’s  few  and  brief  directions  were  given  in  the 
Hebrew  language  to  the  old  domestic ;  and  he,  who  had 
been  frequently  her  assistant  in  similar  cases,  obeyed 
them  without  reply. 

The  accents  of  an  unknown  tongue,  however  harsh 
they  might  have  sounded  when  uttered  by  another, 
had,  coming  from  the  beautiful  Rebecca,  the  romantic 
and  pleasing  effect  which  fancy  ascribes  to  the 
charms  pronounced  by  some  beneficent  fairy,  unin- 


IVANHOE 


369 


telligible,  indeed,  to  the  ear,  but,  from  the  sweetness 
of  utterance,  and  benignity  of  aspect,  which  accom¬ 
panied  them,  touching  and  affecting  to  the  heart. 
Without  making  an  attempt  at  further  question,  Ivan- 
hoe  suffered  them  in  silence  to  take  the  measures 
they  thought  most  proper  for  his  recovery ;  and  it  was 
not  until  those  were  completed,  and  this  kind  phy¬ 
sician  about  to  retire,  that  his  curiosity  could  no  lon¬ 
ger  be  suppressed. — “Gentle  maiden/’  he  began  in  the 
Arabian  tongue,  with  which  his  Eastern  travels  had 
rendered  him  familiar,  and  which  he  thought  most 
likely  to  be  understood  by  the  turban’d  and  caftan’d1 
damsel  who  stood  before  him — “I  pray  you,,  gentle 
maiden,  of  your  courtesy - ” 

But  here  he  was  interruped  by  his  fair  physician, 
a  smile  which  she  could  scarce  suppress  dimpling  for 
!  an  instant  a  face,  whose  general  expression  was  that 
of  contemplative  melancholy.  “I  am  of  England,  Sir 
Knight,  and  speak  the  English  tongue,  although  my 
dress  and  my  lineage  belong  to  another  climate/’ 

“Noble  damsel,” — again  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe  be¬ 
gan;  and  again  Rebecca  hastened  to  interrupt  him. 

“Bestow  not  on  me,  Sir  Knight,”  she  said,  “the 
epithet  of  noble.  It  is  well  you  should  speedily  know 
that  your  handmaiden  is  a  poor  Jewess,  the  daughter 
of  that  Isaac  of  York,  to  whom  you  were  so  lately  a 
good  and  kind  lord.  It  well  becomes  him,  and  those 
of  his  household,  to  render  to  you  such  careful  ten¬ 
dance  as  your  present  state  necessarily  demands.” 

I  know  not  whether  the  fair  Rowena  would  have 
been  altogether  satisfied  with  the  species  of  emotion 
with  which  her  devoted  knight  had  hitherto  gazed 
on  the  beautiful  features,  and  fair  form,  and  lustrous 
eyes,  of  the  lovely  Rebecca ;  eyes  whose  brilliancy  was 

’Dressed  in  caftan,  a  long  Turkish  undercoat  with  long 
sleeves  and  sash. 


370 


I  VAN  HOE 


shaded,  and,  as  it  were,  mellowed,  by  the  fringe  of 
her  long  silken  eyelashes,  and  which  a  minstrel  would 
have  compared  to  the  evening  star  darting  its  rays 
through  a  bower  of  jessamine.  But  Ivanhoe  was  too 
good  a  Catholic  to  retain  the  same  class  of  feelings 
towards  a  Jewess.  This  Rebecca  had  foreseen,  and 
for  this  very  purpose  she  had  hastened  to  mention 
her  father’s  name  and  lineage;  yet — for  the  fair  and 
wise  daughter  of  Isaac  was  not  without  a  touch  of 
female  weakness — she  could  not  but  sigh  internally 
when  the  glance  of  respectful  admiration,  not  alto¬ 
gether  unmixed  with  tenderness,  with  which  Ivanhoe 
had  hitherto  regarded  his  unknown  benefactress,  was 
exchanged  at  once  for  a  manner  cold,  composed,  and 
collected,  and  fraught  with  no  deeper  feeling  than 
that  which  expressed  a  grateful  sense  of  courtesy  re¬ 
ceived  from  an  unexpected  quarter,  and  from  one 
of  an  inferior  race.  It  was  not  that  Ivanhoe’s  former 
carriage  expressed  more  than  that  general  devotional 
homage  which  youth  always  pays  to  beauty;  yet  it 
was  mortifying  that  one  word  should  operate  as  a 
spell  to  remove  poor  Rebecca,  who  could  not  be  sup¬ 
posed  altogether  ignorant  of  her  title  to  such  homage, 
into  a  degraded  class,  to  whom  it  could  not  be  honor¬ 
ably  rendered. 

But  the  gentleness  and  candor  of  Rebecca’s  nature 
imputed  no  fault  to  Ivanhoe  for  sharing  in  the  uni¬ 
versal  prejudices  of  his  age  and  religion.  On  the 
contrary,  the  fair  Jewess,  though  sensible  her  patient 
now  regarded  her  as  one  of  a  race  of  reprobation, 
with  whom  it  was  disgraceful  to  hold  any  beyond  the 
most  necessary  intercourse,  ceased  not  to  pay  the 
same  patient  and  devoted  attention  to  his  safety  and 
convalescence.  She  informed  him  of  the  necessity 
they  were  under  of  removing  to  York,  and  of  her 
father’s  resolution  to  transport  him  thither,  and  tend 


IVANHOE 


371 


him  in  his  own  house  until  his  health  should  be  re¬ 
stored.  Ivanhoe  expressed  great  repugnance  to  this 
plan,  which  he  grounded  on  unwillingness  to  give 
farther  trouble  to  his  benefactors. 

“Wah  there  not/’  he  said,  “in  Ashby,  or  near  it, 
some  Saxon  franklin,  or  even  some  wealthy  peasant, 
who  would  endure  the  burden  of  a  wounded  country¬ 
man’s  residence  with  him  until  he  should  be  again 
able  to  bear  his  armor? — Was  there  no  convent  of 
Saxon  endowment,  where  he  could  be  received? — Or 
could  he  not  be  transported  as  far  as  Burton,  where 
he  was  sure  to  find  hospitality  with  Waltheoff,  the 
Abbot  of  St.  Withold’s,  to  whom  he  was  related?” 

“Any,  the  worst  of  these  harborages,”  said  Re¬ 
becca,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  “would  unquestion¬ 
ably  be  more  fitting  for  your  residence  than  the  abode 
of  a  despised  Jew;  yet,  Sir  Knight,  unless  you  would 
dismiss  your  physician,  you  cannot  change  your 
lodging.  Our  nation,  as  you  well  know,  can  cure 
wounds,  though  we  deal  not  in  inflicting  them;  and 
in  our  own  family,  in  particular,  are  secrets  which 
have  been  handed  down  since  the  days  of  Solomon, 
and  of  which  you  have  already  experienced  the  ad¬ 
vantages.  No  Nazarene — I  crave  your  forgiveness, 
Sir  Knight — no  Christian  leech,  within  the  four  seas 
of  Britain,  could  enable  you  to  bear  your  corselet 
within  a  month.” 

“And  how  soon  wilt  thou  enable  me  to  brook  it?” 
said  Ivanhoe,  impatiently. 

“Within  eight  days,  if  thou  wilt  be  patient  and 
conformable  to  my  directions,”  replied  Rebecca. 

“By  Our  Blessed  Lady,”  said  Wilfred,  “if  it  be 
not  a  sin  to  name  her  here,  it  is  no  time  for  me  or 
any  true  knight  to  be  bedridden ;  and  if  thou  accom¬ 
plish  thy  promise,  maiden,  I  will  pay  thee  with  my 
casque  full  of  crowns,  come  by  them  as  I  may.” 


372 


Ivan  hoe 


“I  will  accomplish  my  promise,”  said  Rebecca, 
“and  thou  shalt  bear  thine  armor  on  the  eighth  day 
from  hence,  if  thou  wilt  grant  me  but  one  boon  in  the 
stead  of  the  silver  thou  dost  promise  me.” 

“If  it  be  within  my  power,  and  such  as  a  true 
Christian  knight  may  yield  to  one  of  thy  people,” 
replied  Ivanhoe,  “I  will  grant  thy  boon  blithely  and 
thankfully.” 

“Nay,”  answered  Rebecca,  “I  will  but  pray  of  thee 
to  believe  henceforward  that  a  Jew  may  do  good  ser¬ 
vice  to  a  Christian,  without  desiring  other  guerdon 
than  the  blessing  of  the  Great  Father  who  made  both 
Jew  and  Gentile.” 

“It  were  sin  to  doubt  it,  maiden,”  replied  Ivanhoe; 
“and  I  repose  myself  on  thy  skill  without  further 
scruple  or  question,  well  trusting  you  will  enable  me  to 
bear  my  corselet  on  the  eighth  day.  And  now,  my  kind 
leech,  let  me  inquire  the  news  abroad. — What  of  the 
noble  Saxon  Cedric  and  his  household? — what  of  the 
lovely  Lady” — He  stopped,  as  if  unwilling  to  speak 
Rowena’s  name  in  the  house  of  a  Jew — “Of  her,  I 
mean,  who  was  named  Queen  of  the  tournament?” 

“And  who  was  selected  by  you,  Sir  Knight,  to  hold 
that  dignity,  with  judgment  which  was  admired  as 
much  as  your  valor,”  replied  Rebecca. 

The  blood  which  Ivanhoe  had  lost  did  not  prevent  a 
flush  from  crossing  his  cheek,  feeling  that  he  had  in¬ 
cautiously  betrayed  his  deep  interest  in  Rowena  by 
the  awkward  attempt  he  had  made  to  conceal  it. 

“It  was  less  of  her  I  would  speak,”  said  he,  “than 
of  Prince  John;  and  I  would  fain  know  somewhat  of 
a  faithful  squire,  and  why  he  now  attends  me  not.” 

“Let  me  use  my  authority  as  a  leech,”  answered 
Rebecca,  “and  enjoin  you  to  keep  silence,  and  avoid 
agitating  reflections,  whilst  I  apprise  you  of  what  you 
desire  to  know.  Prince  John  hath  broken  off  the 


IVANHOE 


373 


tournament,  and  set  forward  in  all  haste  towards 
York,  with  the  nobles,  knights,  and  churchmen  of  his 
party,  after  collecting  such  sums  as  they  could  wring, 
by  fair  means  or  foul,  from  those  who  are  esteemed 
the  wealthy  of  the  land.  It  is  said  he  designs  to  as¬ 
sume  his  brother’s  crown.” 

“Not  without  a  blow  struck  in  its  defense,”  said 
Ivanhoe,  raising  himself  upon  the  couch,  “if  there 
were  but  one  true  subject  in  England.  I  will  fight 
for  Richard’s  title  with  the  best  of  them — ay,  one  or 
two,  in  his  just  quarrel!” 

“But  that  you  may  be  able  to  do  so,”  said  Rebecca, 
touching  his  shoulder  with  her  hand,  “you  must  now 
observe  my  directions,  and  remain  quiet.” 

“True,  maiden,”  said  Ivanhoe,  “as  quiet  as  these 
disquieted  times  will  permit. — And  of  Cedric  and  his 
household?” 

“His  steward  came  but  a  brief  while  since,”  said 
the  Jewess,  “panting  with  haste,  to  ask  my  father 
for  certain  moneys,  the  price  of  wool,  the  growth  of 
Cedric’s  flocks,  and  from  him  I  learned  that  Cedric 
and  Athelstane  of  Coningsburgh  had  left  Prince 
John’s  lodging  in  high  displeasure,  and  were  about 
i  to  set  forth  on  their  return  homeward.” 

“Went  any  lady  with  them  to  the  banquet?”  said 
Wilfred. 

“The  Lady  Rowena,”  said  Rebecca,  answering  the 
question  with  more  precision  than  it  had  been  asked — 
“The  Lady  Rowena  went  not  to  the  Prince’s  feast, 
and,  as  the  steward  reported  to  us,  she  is  now  on  her 
journey  back  to  Rotherwood,  with  her  guardian 
Cedric.  And  touching  your  faithful  squire  Gurth — ” 

“Ha!”  exclaimed  the  knight,  “knowest  thou  his 
name? — But  thou  dost,”  he  immediately  added,  “and 
well  thou  mayest,  for  it  was  from  thy  hand,  and,  as 
I  am  now  convinced,  from  thine  own  generosity  of 


374 


Ivan  hoe 


spirit,  that  he  received  but  yesterday  a  hundred  zec- 
chins.” 

“Speek  not  of  that,”  said  Rebecca,  blushing  deeply; 
“I  see  how  easy  it  is  for  the  tongue  to  betray  what 
the  heart  would  gladly  conceal.” 

“But  this  sum  of  gold,”  said  Ivanhoe,  gravely,  “my 
honor  is  concerned  in  repaying  it  to  your  father.” 

“Let  it  be  as  thou  wilt,”  said  Rebecca,  “when  eight 
days  have  passed  away;  but  think  not,  and  speak  not 
now,  of  aught  that  may  retard  thy  recovery.” 

“Be  it  so,  kind  maiden,”  said  Ivanhoe;  “I  were 
most  ungrateful  to  dispute  thy  commands.  But  one 
word  of  the  fate  of  poor  Gurth,  and  I  have  done  with 
questioning  thee.” 

“I  grieve  to  tell  thee,  Sir  Knight,”  answered  the 
Jewess,  “that  he  is  in  custody  by  the  order  of  Cedric.” 
— And  then,  observing  the  distress  which  her  com¬ 
munication  gave  to  Wilfred,  she  instantly  added,  “But 
the  steward  Oswald  said,  that  if  nothing  occurred  to 
renew  his  master’s  displeasure  against  him,  he  was 
sure  that  Cedric  would  pardon  Gurth,  a  faithful  serf, 
and  one  who  stood  high  in  favor,  and  who  had  but 
committed  this  error  out  of  the  love  which  he  bore 
to  Cedric’s  son.  And  he  said,  moreover,  that  he  and 
his  comrades,  and  especially  Wamba  the  Jester,  were 
resolved  to  warn  Gurth  to  make  his  escape  by  the 
way,  in  case  Cedric’s  ire  against  him  could  not  be 
mitigated.” 

“Would  to  God  they  may  keep  their  purpose!”  said 
Ivanhoe;  “but  it  seems  as  if  I  were  destined  to  bring 
ruin  on  whomsoever  hath  shown  kindness  to  me.  My 
king,  by  whom  I  was  honored  and  distinguished,  thou 
seest  that  the  brother  most  indebted  to  him  is  rais- 
ing  his  arms  to  grasp  his  crown ; — my  regard  hath 
brought  restraint  and  trouble  on  the  fairest  of  her 
sex; — and  now  my  father  in  his  mood  may  slay  this 


IVANHOE  375 

poor  bondsman,  but  for  his  love  and  loyal  service  to 
me! — Thou  seest,  maiden,  what  an  ill-fated  wretch 
thou  dost  labor  to  assist;  be  wise,  and  let  me  go,  ere 
the  misfortunes  which  track  my  footsteps  like  slot- 
hounds,  shall  involve  thee  also  in  their  pursuit.” 

“Nay,”  said  Rebecca,  “thy  weakness  and  thy  grief, 
Sir  Knight,  make  thee  miscalculate  the  purposes  of 
Heaven.  Thou  hast  been  restored  to  thy  country 
when  it  most  needed  the  assistance  of  a  strong  hand 
and  a  true  heart,  and  thou  hast  humbled  the  pride  of 
thine  enemies  and  those  of  thy  king,  when  their  horn1 
was  most  highly  exalted;  and  for  the  evil  which  thou 
hast  sustained,  seest  thou  not  that  Heaven  has  raised 
thee  a  helper  and  a  physician,  even  among  the  most 
despised  of  the  land? — Therefore  be  of  good  courage, 
and  trust  that  thou  art  preserved  for  some  marvel 
which  thine  arm  shall  work  before  this  people.  Adieu 
— and  having  taken  the  medicine  which  I  shall  send 
thee  by  the  hand  of  Reuben,  compose  thyself  again  to 
rest,  that  thou  mayest  be  the  more  able  to  endure  the 
journey  on  the  succeeding  day.” 

Ivanhoe  was  convinced  by  the  reasoning,  and 
obeyed  the  directions  of  Rebecca.  The  draught  which 
Reuben  administered  was  of  a  sedative  and  narcotic 
quality,  and  secured  the  patient  sound  and  undis¬ 
turbed  slumbers.  In  the  morning  his  kind  physician 
found  him  entirely  free  from  feverish  symptoms  and 
fit  to  undergo  the  fatigue,  of  a  journey. 

He  was  deposited  in  the  horse-litter  which  had 
brought  him  from  the  lists,  and  every  precaution 
taken  for  his  traveling  with  ease.  In  one  circum¬ 
stance  only  even  the  entreaties  of  Rebecca  were  un¬ 
able  to  secure  sufficient  attention  to  the  accommoda¬ 
tion  of  the  wounded  knight.  Isaac,  like  the  enriched 


symbol  of  power.  Psalms  CXII,  9. 


376 


IVANIIOE 


traveler  of  Juvenal’s1  tenth  satire,  had  ever  the  fear  of 
robbery  before  his  eyes,  conscious  that  he  would  be 
alike  accounted  fair  game  by  the  marauding  Nor¬ 
man  noble,  and  by  the  Saxon  outlaw.  He  therefore 
journeyed  at  a  great  rate,  and  made  short  halts,  and 
shorter  repasts,  so  that  he  passed  by  Cedric  and 
Athelstane,  who  had  several  hours  the  start  of  him, 
but  who  had  been  delayed  by  their  protracted  feast¬ 
ing  at  the  convent  of  Saint  Withold’s.  Yet  such  was 
the  virtue  of  Miriam’s  balsam,  or  such  the  strength 
of  Ivanhoe’s  constitution,  that  he  did  not  sustain  from 
the  hurried  journey  that  inconvenience  which  his 
kind  physician  had  apprehended. 

In  another  point  of  view,  however,  the  Jew’s  haste 
proved  somewhat  more  than  good  speed.  The  rapid¬ 
ity  with  which  he  insisted  on  traveling,  bred  several 
disputes  between  him  and  the  party  whom  he  had 
hired  to  attend  him  as  a  guard.  These  men  were 
Saxons,  and  not  free  by  any  means  from  the  national 
love  of  ease  and  good  living  which  the  Normans 
stigmatized  as  laziness  and  gluttony.  Reversing 
Shylock’s  position,  they  had  accepted  the  employ¬ 
ment  in  hopes  of  feeding  upon  the  wealthy  Jew,  and 
were  very  much  displeased  when  they  found  themselves 
disappointed,  by  the  rapidity  with  which  he  insisted 
on  their  proceeding.  They  remonstrated  also  upon 
the  risk  of  damage  to  their  horses  by  these  forced 
marches.  Finally,  there  arose  betwixt  Isaac  and  his 
satellites  a  deadly  feud,  concerning  the  quantity  of 
wine  and  ale  to  be  allowed  for  consumption  at  each 
meal.  And  thus  it  happened,  that  when  the  alarm 
of  danger  approached,  and  that  which  Isaac  feared 
was  likely  to  come  upon  him,  he  was  deserted  by  the 
discontented  mercenaries  on  whose  protection  he  had 


‘Juvenal,  a  famous  Roman  poet,  38  to  120. 


IVANHOE 


377 


relied,  without  using  the  means  necessary  to  secure 
their  attachment. 

In  this  deplorable  condition  the  Jew,  with  his 
daughter  and  his  wounded  patient,  were  found  by 
Cedric,  as  has  already  been  noticed,  and  soon  after¬ 
wards  fell  into  the  power  of  De  Bracy  and  his  con¬ 
federates.  Little  notice  was  at  first  taken  of  the 
!  horse-litter,  and  it  might  have  remained  behind  but 
i  for  the  curiosity  of  De  Bracy,  who  looked  into  it 
under  the  impression  that  it  might  contain  the  ob- 
jject  of  his  enterprise,  for  Rowena  had  not  unveiled 
herself.  But  De  Bracy’s  astonishment  was  consid¬ 
erable,  when  he  discovered  that  the  litter  contained 
a  wounded  man,  who,  conceiving  himself  to  have 
fallen  into  the  power  of  Saxon  outlaws,  with  whom 
i  his  name  might  be  a  protection  for  himself  and  his 
j  friends,  frankly  avowed  himself  to  be  Wilfred  of 
|  Ivanhoe. 

The  ideas  of  chivalrous  honor,  which,  amidst  his 
wildness  and  levity,  never  utterly  abandoned  De 
Bracy,  prohibited  him  from  doing  the  knight  any 
injury  in  his  defenseless  condition,  and  equally  in¬ 
terdicted  his  betraying  him  to  Front-de-Bceuf,  who 
would  have  had  no  scruples  to  put  to  death,  under 
any  circumstances,  the  rival  claimant  of  the  fief  of 
Ivanhoe.  On  the  other  hand,  to  liberate  a  suitor 
preferred  by  the  Lady  Rowena,  as  the  events  of  the 
tournament,  and  indeed  Wilfred’s  previous  banish¬ 
ment  from  his  father’s  house,  had  made  matter  of  no¬ 
toriety,  was  a  pitch  far  above  the  flight  of  De  Bracy’s 
generosity.  A  middle  course  betwixt  good  and  evil 
was  all  which  he  found  himself  capable  of  adopting, 
and  he  commanded  two  of  his  own  squires  to  keep 
close  by  the  litter,  and  to  suffer  no  one  to  approach 

Question  :  Where  did  you  find  out  before  that  De  Bracy 
already  knew  about  Ivanhoe? 


378 


Ivan  hoe 


it.  If  questioned,  they  were  directed  by  their  master 
to  say,  that  the  empty  litter  of  the  Lady  Rowena  was 
employed  to  transport  one  of  their  comrades  who  had 
been  wounded  in  the  scuffle.  On  arriving  at  Torquil- 
stone,  while  the  Knight  Templar  and  the  lord  of  that 
castle  were  each  intent  upon  their  own  schemes,  the 
one  on  the  Jew’s  treasure,  and  the  other  on  his  daugh¬ 
ter,  De  Bracy’s  squires  conveyed  Ivanhoe,  still  un¬ 
der  the  name  of  a  wounded  comrade,  to  a  distant 
apartment.  This  explanation  was  accordingly  re¬ 
turned  by  these  men  to  Front-de-Boeuf,  when  he  ques¬ 
tioned  them  why  they  did  not  make  for  the  battle¬ 
ments  upon  the  alarm. 

“A  wounded  companion!”  he  replied  in  great  wrath 
and  astonishment.  “No  wonder  that  churls  and  yeo¬ 
men  wax  so  presumptuous  as  even  to  lay  leaguer  be¬ 
fore  castles,  and  that  clowns  and  swineherds  send  de¬ 
fiances  to  nobles,  since  men-at-arms  have  turned  sick 
men’s  nurses,  and  Free  Companions  are  grown  keep¬ 
ers  of  dying  folk’s  curtains,  when  the  castle  is  about 
to  be  assailed. — To  the  ^battlements,  ye  loitering  vil¬ 
lains!”  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  stentorian  voice  till 
the  arches  around  rung  again,  “to  the  battlements,  or 
I  will  splinter  your  bones  with  this  truncheon!” 

The  men  sulkily  replied,  “that  they  desired  noth¬ 
ing  better  than  to  go  to  the  battlements,  providing 
Front-de-Bceuf  would  bear  them  out  with  their  mas¬ 
ter,  who  had  commanded  them  to  tend  the  dying 
man.” 

“The  dying  man,  knaves!”  rejoined  the  Baron;  “I 
promise  thee  we  shall  all  be  dying  men  an  we  stand  , 
not  to  it  the  more  stoutly.  But  I  will  relieve  the 
guard  upon  this  caitiff  companion  of  yours. — Here, 
Urfried — hag — fiend  of  a  Saxon  witch — hearest  me 
not? — tend  me  this  bedridden  fellow,  since  he  must 
heeds  be  tended,  whilst  these  knaves  use  their  weap- 


IVANHOE 


379 


ons. — Here  be  two  arblasts,1  comrades,  with  windlaces 
and  quarrels — to  the  barbican  with  you,  and  see  you 
drive  each  bolt  through  a  Saxon  brain.” 

The  men,  who,  like  most  of  their  description,  were 
fond  of  enterprise  and  detested  inaction,  wTent  joy¬ 
fully  to  the  scene  of  danger  as  they  were  commanded, 
and  thus  the  charge  of  Ivanhoe  was  transferred  to 
Urfried,  or  Ulrica.  But  she,  whose  brain  was  burn¬ 
ing  with  remembrance  of  injuries  and  with  hopes  of 
vengeance,  was  readily  induced  to  devolve  upon  Re¬ 
becca  the  care  of  her  patient. 


!“THe  arblast  was  a  cross-bow,  the  windlace  the  machine 
used  in  bending  that  weapon,  and  the  quarrell  so  called 
from  its  square  or  diamond-shaped  head,  was  the  bolt 
bolt  adapted  to  it.”  (Scott’s  note). 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


Ascend  the  watch-tower  yonder,  valiant  soldier, 
Look  on  the  field,  and  say  how  goes  the  battle. 

Schiller’s  Maid  of  Orleans. 

A  moment  of  peril  is  often  also  a  moment  of  open- 
hearted  kindness  and  affection.  We  are  thrown  off 
our  guard  by  the  general  agitation  of  our  feelings, 
and  betray  the  intensity  of  those  which,  at  more 
tranquil  periods,  our  prudence  at  least  conceals,  if  it 
cannot  altogether  suppress  them.  In  finding  herself 
once  more  by  the  side  of  Ivanhoe,  Rebecca  was  aston¬ 
ished  at  the  keen  sensation  of  pleasure  which  she 
experienced,  even  at  a  time  when  all  around  them 
both  was  danger,  if  not  despair.  As  she  felt  his 
pulse,  and  inquired  after  his  health,  there  was  a  soft¬ 
ness  in  her  touch  and  in  her  accents,  implying  a  kind¬ 
er  interest  than  she  would  herself  have  been  pleased 
to  have  voluntarily  expressed.  Her  voice  faltered  and 
her  hand  trembled,  and  it  was  only  the  cold  question 
of  Ivanhoe,  “Is  it  you,  gentle  maiden  ?”  which  recalled 
her  to  herself,  and  reminded  her  the  sensations  which 
she  felt  were  not  and  could  not  be  mutual.  A  sigh 
escaped,  but  it  was  scarce  audible;  and  the  questions 
which  she  asked  the  knight  concerning  his  state  of 
health  were  put  in  the  tone  of  calm  friendship.  Ivan¬ 
hoe  answered  her  hastily  that  he  was,  in  point  of 
health,  as  well,  and  better  than  he  could  have  ex¬ 
pected  Thanks, ”  he  said,  “dear  Rebecca,  to  thy 
helpful  skill.” 

“He  calls  me  dear  Rebecca,”  said  the  maiden  to 
herself,  “but  it  is  in  the  cold  and  careless  tone  which 
ill  suits  the  word.  His  war-horse — his  hunting  hound, 
are  dearer  to  him  than  the  despised  Jewess!” 

“My  mind,  gentle  maiden,”  continued  Ivanhoe,  “is 
more  disturbed  by  anxiety,  than  my  body  with  pain, 


IVANHOE 


381 


?rom  the  speeches  of  these  men  who  were  my  ward¬ 
ers  just  now,  I  learn  that  I  am  a  prisoner,  and, 
f  I  judge  aright  of  the  loud  hoarse  voice  which  even 
low  dispatches  them  hence  on  some  military  duty, 

[  am  in  the  castle  of  Front-de-Bceuf.  If  so,  how  will 
:his  end,  or  how  can  I  protect  Rowena  and  my  fath¬ 
er?” 

!  “He  names  not  the  Jew  or  Jewess,”  said  Rebecca, 
internally;  “yet  what  is  our  portion  in  him,  and  how 
justly  am  I  punished  by  Heaven  for  letting  my 
thoughts  dwell  upon  him!”  She  hastened  after  this 
brief  self-accusation  to  give  Ivanhoe  what  informa¬ 
tion  she  could;  but  it  amounted  only  to  this,  that  the 
Templar  Bois-Guilbert,  and  the  Baron  Front-de- 
jBoeuf,  were  commanders  within  the  castle;  that  it 
was  beleaguered  from  without,  but  by  whom  she  knew 
not.  She  added,  that  there  was  a  Christian  priest 
within  the  castle  who  might  be  possessed  of  more  in¬ 
formation. 

“A  Christian  priest!”  said  the  knight,  joyfully; 
“fetch  him  hither,  Rebecca,  if  thou  canst — say  a  sick 
man  desires  his  ghostly  counsel— say  what  thou  wilt, 
but  bring  him — something  I  must  do  or  attempt,  but 
how  can  I  determine  until  I  know  how  matters  stand 
without?” 

Rebecca,  in  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  Ivanhoe, 
made  that  attempt  to  bring  Cedric  into  the  wounded 
knight’s  chamber,  which  was  defeated  as  we  have  al¬ 
ready  seen  by  the  interference  of  Urfried,  who  had 
I  been  also  on  the  watch  to  intercept  the  supposed 
monk.  Rebecca  retired  to  communicate  to  Ivanhoe 
the  result  of  her  errand. 

They  had  not  much  leisure  to  regret  the  failure  of 
this  source  of  intelligence,  or  to  contrive  by  what 
means  it  might  be  supplied ;  for  the  noise  within  the 
castle,  occasioned  by  the  defensive  preparations  which 


382  Ivan  hoe 

had  been  considerable  for  some  time,  now  increased 
into  tenfold  bustle  and  clamor.  The  heavy,  yet  hasty 
step  of  the  men-at-arms,  traversed  the  battlements, 
or  resounded  on  the  narrow  and  winding  passages 
and  stairs  which  led  to  the  various  bartizans  and 
points  of  defense.  The  voices  of  the  knights  were 
heard,  animating  their  followers,  or  directing  means 
of  defense,  while  their  commands  were  often  drowned 
in  the  clashing  of  armor,  or  the  clamorous  shouts  of 
those  whom  they  addressed.  Tremendous  as  these 
sounds  were,  and  yet  more  terrible  from  the  awful 
event  which  they  presaged,  there  was  a  sublimity 
mixed  with  them,  which  Rebecca’s  high-toned  mind 
could  feel  even  in  that  moment  of  terror.  Her  eye 
kindled,  although  the  blood  fled  from  her  cheeks ; 
and  there  was  a  strong  mixture  of  fear,  and  of  a 
thrilling  sense  of  the  sublime,  as  she  repeated,  half 
whispering  to  herself,  half  speaking  to  her  compan¬ 
ion,  the  sacred  text, — “The  quiver  rattleth1 — the 
glittering  spear  and  the  shield — the  noise  of  the  cap¬ 
tains  and  the  shouting!” 

But  Ivanhoe  was  like  the  war-horse  of  that  sub¬ 
lime  passage,  glowing  with  impatience  at  his  inactiv¬ 
ity,  and  with  his  ardent  desire  to  mingle  in  the  af¬ 
fray  of  which  these  sounds  were  the  introduction. 
“If  I  could  but  drag  myself,”  he  said,  “to  yonder 
window,  that  I  might  see  how  this  brave  game  is  like 
to  go — If  I  had  bow  to  shoot  a  shaft,  or  battle-ax 
to  strike  were  it  but  a  single  blow  for  our  deliver¬ 
ance! — It  is  in  vain — it  is  in  vain — I  am  alike  nerve¬ 
less  and  weaponless!” 

“Fret  not  thyself,  noble  knight,”  answered  Rebec¬ 
ca,  “the  sounds  have  ceased  of  a  sudden — it  may¬ 
be  they  join  not  battle.” 

“Thou  knowest  naught  of  it,”  said  Wilfred,  im- 

\Tob  XXXIX.  23-25, 


IVANHOE 


383 


•atiently;  “this  dead  pause  only  shows  that  the  men 
re  at  their  posts  on  the  walls,  and  expecting  an 
hstant  attack;  what  we  have  heard  was  but  the  dis- 
ant  muttering  of  the  storm — it  will  burst  anon  in  all 
ts  fury. — Could  I  but  reach  yonder  window!” 

“Thou  wilt  but  injure  thyself  by  the  attempt,  noble 
might,”  replied  his  attendant.  Observing  his  ex- 
reme  solicitude,  she  firmly  added,  “I  myself  will 
tand  at  the  lattice,  and  describe  to  you  as  I  can  what 
>asses  without.” 

“You  must  not — you  shall  not!”  exclaimed  Ivan- 
loe;  “each  lattice,  each  aperture,  will  be  soon  a  mark 
-or  the  archers;  some  random  shaft - ” 

“It  shall  be  welcome!”  murmured  Rebecca,  as  with 
|irm  pace  she  ascended  two  or  three  steps,  which  led 
:o  the  window  of  which  they  spoke. 

“Rebecca,  dear  Rebecca!”  exclaimed  Ivanhoe, 
“this  is  no  maiden’s  pastime — do  not  expose  thyself 
to  wounds  and  death,  and  render  me  forever  miser¬ 
able  for  having  given  the  occasion;  at  least,  cover 
thyself  with  yonder  ancient  buckler,  and  show  as 
little  of  your  person  at  the  lattice  as  may  be.” 

Following  with  wonderful  promptitude  the  direc¬ 
tions  of  Ivanhoe,  and  availing  herself  of  the  protec¬ 
tion  of  the  large  ancient  shield,  which  she  placed 
against  the  lower  part  of  the  window,  Rebecca,  with 
tolerable  security  to  herself,  could  witness  part  of 
what  was  passing  without  the  castle,  and  report  to 
Ivanhoe  the  preparations  which  the  assailants  were 
making  for  the  storm.  Indeed,  the  situation  which 
she  thus  obtained  was  peculiarly  favorable  for  this 
purpose,  because,  being  placed  on  an  angle  of  the  main 
building,  Rebecca  could  not  only  see  what  passed  be¬ 
yond  the  precincts  of  the  castle,  but  also  commanded 
a  view  of  the  outwork  likely  to  be  the  first  object  of 
the  meditated  assault.  It  was  an  exterior  fortification 


384 


IVANKOE 


of  no  great  height  or  strength,  intended  to  protect  the 
postern-gate,  through  which  Cedrick  had  been  recent¬ 
ly  dismissed  by  Front-de-Boeuf.  The  castle  moat  di¬ 
vided  this  species  of  barbican  from  the  rest  of  the 
fortress,  so  that,  in  case  of  .its  being  taken,  it  was 
easy  to  cut  off  the  communication  with  the  main 
building,  by  withdrawing  the  temporary  bridge.  In 
the  outwork  was  a  sallyport  corresponding  to  the 
postern  of  the  castle,  and  the  whole  was  surrounded 
by  a  strong  palisade.  Rebecca  could  observe,  from 
the  number  of  men  placed  for  the  defense  of  this 
post,  that  the  besieged  entertained  apprehensions  for 
its  safety;  and  from  the  mustering  of  the  assailants 
in  a  direction  nearly  opposite  to  the  outwork,  it 
seemed  no  less  plain  that  it  had  been  selected  as  a 
vulnerable  point  of  attack. 

These  appearances  she  hastily  communicated  to 
Ivanhoe,  and  added,  “The  skirts  of  the  wood  seem 
lined  with  archers,  although  only  a  few  are  advanced 
from  its  dark  shadow.” 

“Under  what  banner?”  asked  Ivanhoe. 

“Under  no  ensign  of  war  which  I  can  observe,” 
answered  Rebecca. 

“A  singular  novelty/’  muttered  the  knight,  “to 
advance  to  storm  such  a  castle  without  pennon  or 
banner  displayed! — Seest  thou  who  they  be  that  act 
as  leaders?” 

“A  knight,  clad  in  sable  armor,  is  the  most  con¬ 
spicuous,”  said  the  Jewess;  “he  alone  is  armed  from 
head  to  heel,  and  seems  to  assume  the  direction  of 
all  around  him.” 

“What  device  does  he  bear  on  his  shield?”  re¬ 
plied  Ivanhoe. 

“Something  resembling  a  bar  of  iron,  and  a  pad¬ 
lock  painted  blue  on  the  black  shield.” 

“A  fetterlock  and  shackelbolt  azure,”  said  Ivan- 


IVANHOE 


385 


ioe;  “I  know  not  who  may  bear  the  device,  but  well 
I  ween  it  might  now  be  mine  own.  Canst  thou  not 
ee  the  motto?” 

“Scarce  the  device  itself  at  this  distance,”  replied 
iebecca;  “but  when  the  sun  glances  fair  upon  his 
hield,  it  shows  as  I  tell  you.” 

|  “Seem  there  no  other  leaders?”  exclaimed  the 
mxious  inquirer. 

“None  of  mark  and  distinction  that  I  can  behold 
from  this  station,”  said  Rebecca;  “but,  doubtless, 
he  other  side  of  the  castle  is  also  assailed.  They 
tppear  even  now  preparing  to  advance — God  of 
Sion,  protect  us! — What  a  dreadful  sight! — Those 
who  advance  first  bear  huge  shields  and  defenses 
jnade  of  plank;  the  others  follow,  bending  their  bows 
is  they  come  on. — They  raise  their  bows! — God  of 
Moses,  forgive  the  creatures  thou  hast  made!” 

Her  description  was  here  suddenly  interrupted  by 
he  signal  for  assault,  which  was  given  by  the  blast 
)f  a  shrill  bugle,  and  at  once  answered  by  a  flour¬ 
ish  of  Norman  trumpets  from  the  battlements, 
which,  mingled  with  the  deep  and  hollow  clang  of 
the  nakers  (a  species  of  kettle-drum),  retorted  in 
notes  of  defiance  the  challenge  of  the  enemy.  The 
shouts  of  both  parties  augmented  the  fearful  din, 
the  assailants  crying,  “Saint  George  for  merry  Eng¬ 
land!”  and  the  Normans  answering  them  with  loud 
cries  of  “En  avant1  De  Bracy! — Beau-seant! — Beau- 
seantl — Front-de-Boeuf  aJ  la  rescousse according 
to  the  war-cries  of  their  different  commanders. 

It  was  not,  however,  by  clamor  that  the  contest  was 
to  be  decided,  and  the  desperate  efforts  of  the  assail¬ 
ants  were  met  by  an  equally  vigorous  defense  on  the 
part  of  the  besieged.  The  archers,  trained  by  their 


forward. 

*To  the  rescue. 


386 


Ivan  hoe 


woodland  pastimes  to  the  most  effective  use  of  the 
long-bow,  shot,  to  use  the  appropriate  phrase  of  the 
time,  so  “wholly  together,”  that  no  point  at  whicl 
a  defender  could  show  the  least  part  of  his  person 
escaped  their  cloth-yard  shafts.  By  this  heavy  dis 
charge,  which  continued  as  thick  and  sharp  as  hail 
while,  notwithstanding,  every  arrow  had  its  individ 
ual  aim,  and  flew  by  scores  together  against  each  em 
brasure  and  opening  in  the  parapets,  as  well  as  a 
every  window  where  a  defender  either  occasionally 
had  post,  or  might  be  suspected  to  be  stationed, — ty 
this  sustained  discharge,  two  or  three  of  the  garrisor 
were  slain,  and  several  others  wounded.  But,  confi 
dent  in  their  armor  of  proof,  and  in  the  cover  which 
their  situation  afforded,  the  followers  of  Front-de 
Bceuf,  and  his  allies,  showed  an  obstinacy  in  defens 1 
proportioned  to  the  fury  of  the  attack,  and  replie  I 
with  the  discharge  of  their  large  crossbows,  as  we  I 
as  with  their  long-bows,  slings,  and  other  missil 1 
weapons,  to  the  close  and  continued  shower  of  arrows ; 
and,  as  the  assailants  were  necessarily  but  indiffei 
ently  protected,  did  considerably  more  damage  tha  i 
they  received  at  their  hand.  The  whizzing  of  shaft ; 
and  of  missiles,  on  both  sides,  was  only  interrupte  I 
by  the  shouts  which  arose  when  either  side  inflicte  I 
or  sustained  some  notable  loss. 

“And  I  must  lie  here  like  a  bed-ridden  monk, 
exclaimed  Ivanhoe,  “while  the  game  that  gives  m 
freedom  or  death  is  played  out  by  the  hand  of  others  I 
— Look  from  the  window  once  again,  kind  maiden 
but  beware  that  you  are  not  marked  by  the  archer? 
beneath — look  out  once  more,  and  tell  me  if  the1 
yet  advance  to  the  storm.” 

With  patient  courage,  strengthened  by  the  intervjl 
which  she  had  employed  in  mental  devotion,  Rebeccs 
again  took  post  at  the  lattice,  sheltering  herself,  hov  - 


IVANHOE 


387 


ver,  so  as  not  to  be  visible  from  beneath. 

;  “What  dost  thou  see,  Rebecca?”  again  demanded 
le  wounded  knight. 

“Nothing  but  the  cloud  of  arrows  flying  so  thick 
s  to  dazzle  mine  eyes,  and  to  hide  the  bowmen  who 
boot  them.” 

“That  cannot  endure,”  said  Ivanhoe,  “if  they 
ress  not  right  on  to  carry  the  castle  by  pure  force 
f  arms,  the  archery  may  avail  but  little  against 
tone  walls  and  bulwarks.  Look  for  the  Knight 
f  the  Fetterlock,  fair  Rebecca,  and  see  how  he  bears 
imself ;  for  as  the  leader  is,  so  will  his  followers 

e” 

“I  see  him  not,”  said  Rebecca. 

“Foul  craven!”  exclaimed  Ivanhoe;  “does  he 
lench  from  the  helm  when  the  wind  blows  highest?” 

|  “He  blenches  not!  he  blenches  not!”  said  Re- 
ecca,  “I  see  him  now;  he  leads  a  body  of  men  close 
mder  the  outer  barrier  of  the  barbican.  They  pull 
own  the  piles  and  palisades;  they  hew  down  the 
>arriers  with  axes. — His  high  black  plume  floats 
broad  over  the  throng,  like  a  raven  over  the  field 
•f  the  slain. — They  have  made  a  breach  in  the  bar¬ 
kers — they  rush  in — they  are  thrust  back! — Front- 
le-Boeuf  heads  the  defenders ;  I  see  his  gigantic 
orm  above  the  press.  They  throng  again  to  the 
•reach,  and  the  pass  is  disputed  hand  to  hand,  and 
nan  to  man.  God  of  Jacob !  it  is  the  meeting  of 
wo  fierce  tides — the  conflict  of  two  oceans  moved  by 
dverse  winds.” 

'  She  turned  her  head  from  the  lattice,  as  if  unable 
onger  to  endure  a  sight  so  terrible. 

“Look  forth  again,  Rebecca,”  said  Ivanhoe,  mis- 
aking  the  cause  of  her  retiring;  “the  archery  must 
n  some  degree  have  ceased,  since  they  are  now  fight- 


388 


IVANHOE 


ing  hand  to  hand. — Look  again,  there  is  now  less 
danger.” 

Rebecca  again  looked  forth,  and  almost  immedi¬ 
ately  exclaimed,  “Holy  prophets  of  the  law!  Front- 
de-Bceuf  and  the  Black  Knight  fight  hand  to  hand  or 
the  breach,  amid  the  road  of  their  followers,  whc 
watch  the  progress  of  the  strife — Heaven  strike  with 
the  cause  of  the  oppressed  and  of  the  captive!’1 
She  then  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  exclaimed,  “He 
is  down! — he  is  down!” 

“Who  is  down?”  cried  Ivanhoe;  “for  our  dear 
Lady’s  sake,  tell  me  which  has  fallen?” 

“The  Black  Knight,”  answered  Rebecca,  faintly; 
then  instantly  again  shouted  with  joyful  eagerness — 

“But  no — but  no! - the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts 

be  blessed ! — he  is  on  foot  again,  and  fights  as  if  there 
were  twenty  men’s  strength  in  his  single  arm. — His 
sword  is  broken — he  snatches  an  ax  from  a  yeoman 
— he  presses  Front-de-Bceuf  with  blow  on  blow. — 
The  giant  stoops  and  totters  like  an  oak  under  the 
steel  of  the  woodman — he  falls — he  falls!” 

“Front-de-Boeuf  ?”  exclaimed  Ivanhoe. 

“Front-de-Bceuf!”  answered  the  Jewess;  “his 
men  rush  to  the  rescue,  headed  by  the  haughty  Tem¬ 
plar — their  united  force  compels  the  champion  to 
pause — they  drag  Front-de-Bceuf  within  the  walls.” 

“The  assailants  have  won  the  barriers,  have  they 
not?”  said  Ivanhoe. 

“They  have — they  have!”  exclaimed  Rebecca — 
“and  they  press  the  besieged  hard  upon  the  outer 
wall;  some  plant  ladders,  some  swarm  like  bees,  and 
endeavor  to  ascend  upon  the  shoulders  of  each  other 
— down  go  stones,  beams,  and  trunks  of  trees  upon 
their  heads,  and  as  fast  as  they  bear  the  wounded  to 
the  rear,  fresh  men  supply  their  places  in  the  assault. 
— Great  God !  hast  thou  given  men  thine  own  image, 


IVANHOE 


389 


;hat  it  should  be  thus  cruelly  defaced  by  the  hands  of 
:heir  brethren!” 

“Think  not  of  that,”  said  Ivanhoe;  “this  is  no 
time  for  such  thoughts. — Who  yield? — who  push 
their  way?” 

“The  ladders  are  thrown  down,”  replied  Rebecca, 
shuddering;  “the  soldiers  lie  groveling  under  them 
like  crushed  reptiles. — The  besieged  have  the  bet¬ 
ter.” 

“Saint  George  strike  for  us!”  exclaimed  the 
knight;  “do  the  false  yeomen  give  way?” 

“No!”  exclaimed  Rebecca,  “they  bear  them¬ 
selves  right  yeomanly— the  Black  Knight  approaches 
the  postern  with  his  huge  ax — the  thundering  blows 
which  he  deals,  you  may  hear  them  above  all  the  din 
and  shouts  of  the  battle. — Stones  and  beams  are 
hailed  down  on  the  bold  champion — he  regards  them 
no  more  than  if  they  were  thistledown  or  feathers!” 

“By  Saint  John  of  Acre,”  said  Ivanhoe,  raising 
himself  joyfully  on  his  couch,  “methought  there 
was  but  one  man  in  England  that  might  do  such  a 
deed !” 

“The  postern  gate  shakes,”  continued  Rebecca; 
“it  crashes — it  is  splintered  by  his  blows — they  rush 
in — the  outwork  is  won — Oh,  God! — they  hurl  the 
defenders  from  the  battlements— they  throw  them 
into  the  moat — 0  men,  if  ye  be  indeed  men,  spare 
them  that  can  resist  no  longer!” 

“The  bridge — the  bridge  which  communicates 


Question  :  Why  is  this  chapter  known  as  one  of  the 
most  famous  in  English  fiction? 

Question  :  Would  it  be  more  interesting  if  the  seige 
were  described  from  without? 

Question:  Does  Ivanhoe  suspect  who  the  Black  Knight 
is? 


390 


Ivan  hoe 


with  the  castle — have  they  won  that  pass?”  exclaimed 
Ivanhoe. 

“No,”  replied  Rebecca,  “the  Templar  has  de¬ 
stroyed  the  plank  on  which  they  crossed — few  of  the 
defenders  escaped  with  him  into  the  castle — the 
shrieks  and  cries  which  you  hear  tell  the  fate  of  the 
others — Alas! — I  see  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  look 
upon  victory  than  upon  battle.” 

“What  do  they  now,  maiden?”  said  Ivanhoe; 
“look  forth  yet  again — this  is  no  time  to  faint  at 
bloodshed.” 

“It  is  over  for  the  time,”  answered  Rebecca;  “our 
friends  strengthen  themselves  within  the  outwork 
which  they  have  mastered,  and  it  affords  them  so 
good  a  shelter  from  the  foemen's  shot,  that  the  gar¬ 
rison  only  bestow  a  few  bolts  on  it  from  interval  to 
interval,  as  if  rather  to  disquiet  than  effectually  to 
injure  them.” 

“Our  friends,”  said  Wilfred,  “will  surely  not 
abandon  an  enterprise  so  gloriously  begun  and  so 
happily  attained. — O  no!  I  will  put  my  faith  in  the 
good  knight  whose  ax  hath  rent  heart-of-oak  and  bars 
of  iron. — Singular,”  he  again  muttered  to  himself, 
“if  there  be  two  who  can  do  a  deed  of  such  derring- 
do! — a  fetterlock,  and  a  shackelbolt  on  a  field  sable — 
what  may  that  mean? — seest  thou  naught  else,  Re¬ 
becca,  by  which  the  Black  Knight  may  be  distin¬ 
guished?” 

“Nothing,”  said  the  Jewess;  “all  about  him  is 
black  as  the  wing  of  the  night  raven.  Nothing  can  I 
spy  that  can  mark  him  further — but  having  once 
seen  him  put  forth  his  strength  in  battle,  methinks 
I  could  know  him  again  among  a  thousand  warriors. 
He  rushes  to  the  fray  as  if  he  were  summoned  to  a 
banquet.  There  is  more  than  mere  strength,  there 
seems  as  if  the  whole  soul  and  spirit  of  the  champion 


IVANHOE 


391 


■vere  given  to  every  blow  which  he  deals  upon  his 
enemies.  God  assoilzie  him  of  the  sin  of  bloodshed! 
—it  is  fearful,  yet  magnificent,  to  behold  how  the 
irm  and  heart  of  one  man  can  triumph  over  hun- 
ireds.” 

‘‘Rebecca,”  said  Ivanhoe,  “thou  hast  painted  a 
hero;  surely  they  rest  but  to  refresh  their  force,  or 
to  provide  the  means  of  crossing  the  moat.  Under 
such  a  leader  as  thou  hast  spoken  this  knight  to  be, 
there  are  no  craven  fears,  no  cold-blooded  delays,  no 
yielding  up  a  gallant  emprize;  since  the  difficulties 
which  render  it  arduous  render  it  also  glorious.  I 
swear  by  the  honor  of  my  house — I  vow  by  the  name 
Df  my  bright  lady-love,  I  would  endure  ten  years’ 
captivity  to  fight  one  day  by  that  good  knight’s  side 
in  such  a  quarrel  as  this!” 

“Alas!”  said  Rebecca,  leaving  her  station  at  the 
window,  and  approaching  the  couch  of  the  wounded 
knight,  “this  impatient  yearning  after  action — this 
struggling  with  and  repining  at  your  present  weak¬ 
ness,  will  not  fail  to  injure  your  returning  health. 
How  couldst  thou  hope  to  inflict  wounds  on  others, 
ere  that  be  healed  which  thou  thyself -hast  received!” 

“Rebecca,”  he  replied,  “thou  knowest  not  how 
impossible  it  is  for  one  trained  to  actions  of  chivalry 
to  remain  passive  as  a  priest,  or  a  woman,  when 
they  are  acting  deeds  of  honor  around  him.  The 
love  of  battle  is  the  food  upon  which  we  live — the 
lust  of  the  melee  is  the  breath  of  our  nostrils!  We 
live  not — we  wish  not  to  live— longer  than  while  we 
are  victorious  and  renowned.  Such,  maiden,  are  the 
laws  of  chivalry  to  which  we  are  sworn,  and  to  which 
we  offer  all  that  we  hold  dear.” 

“Alas!”  said  the  fair  Jewess,  “and  what  is  it, 

Question  :  Why  does  Scott  not  let  the  Black  Ivniglit 
and  Ivanhoe  fight  side  by  side  in  this  contest? 


392 


IVANHOE 


valiant  knight,  save  an  offering  of  sacrifice  to  a 
demon  of  vain  glory,  and  a  passing  through  the  fire 
to  Moloch!1 — What  remains  to  you  as  the  prize  of  all 
the  blood  you  have  spilled — of  all  the  travail  and 
pain  you  have  endured — of  all  the  tears  which  your 
deeds  have  caused,  when  death  hath  broken  the  strong 
man’s  spear,  and  overtaken  the  speed  of  his  war- 
horse?” 

“What  remains?”  cried  Ivanhoe.  “Glory,  maiden, 
glory!  which  gilds  our  sepulcher  and  embalms  our 
name.” 

“Glory?”  continued  Rebecca;  “alas,  is  the  rusted 
mail  which  hangs  as  a  hatchment  over  the  cham¬ 
pion’s  dim  and  moldering  tomb — is  the  defaced 
sculpture  of  the  inscription  which  the  ignorant  monk 
can  hardly  read  to  the  inquiring  pilgrim — are  these 
sufficient  rewards  for  the  sacrifice  of  every  kindly 
affection,  for  a  life  spent  miserably  that  ye  may  make 
others  miserable?  Or  is  there  such  virtue  in  the 
rude  rhymes  of  a  wandering  bard,  that  domestic  love, 
kindly  affection,  peace  and  happiness,  are  so  wildly 
bartered,  to  become  the  hero  of  those  ballads  which 
vagabond  minstrels  sing  to  drunken  churls  over  their 
evening  ale?” 

“By  the  soul  of  Hereward!”2  replied  the  knight 
impatiently,  “thou  speakest,  maiden,  of  thou  know- 
est  not  what.  Thou  wouldst  quench  the  pure  light 
of  chivalry,  which  alone  distinguishes  the  noble  from 
the  base,  the  gentle  knight  from  the  churl  and  the 
savage;  which  rates  our  life  far,  far  beneath  the  pitch 
of  our  honor;  raises  us  victorious  over  pain,  toil,  and 
suffering,  and  teaches  us  to  fear  no  evil  but  disgrace. 
Thou  art  no  Christian,  Rebecca;  and  to  thee  are  un- 

1A  fire-god  worshipped  by  human  sacrifices  by  the  Am¬ 
monites. 

2A  traditional  outlaw. 


Ivan  hoe 


393 


known  those  high  feelings  which  swell  the  bosom  of 
a  noble  maiden  when  her  lover  hath  done  some  deed 
of  emprize  which  sanctions  his  flame.  Chivalry! — 
why,  maiden,  she  is  the  nurse  of  pure  and  high  affec¬ 
tion — the  stay  of  the  oppressed,  the  redresser  of 
grievances,  the  curb  of  the  power  of  the  tyrant. 
Nobility  were  but  an  empty  name  without  her,  and 
liberty  finds  the  best  protection  in  her  lance  and  her 
sword.” 

“I  am,  indeed,”  said  Rebecca,  “sprung  from  a  race 
whose  courage  was  distinguished  in  the  defense  of 
their  own  land,  but  who  warred  not,  even  while  yet  a 
nation,  save  at  the  command  of  the  Deity,  or  in 
defending  their  country  from  oppression.  The  sound 
of  the  trumpet  wakes  Judah  no  longer,  and  her  de¬ 
spised  children  are  now  but  the  unresisting  victims 
of  hostile  and  military  oppression.  Well  hast  thou 
spoken,  Sir  Knight, — until  the  God  of  Jacob  shall 
raise  up  for  his  chosen  people  a  second  Gideon,1  or  a 
new  Maccabeus,2  it  ill  beseemeth  the  Jewish  damsel 
to  speak  of  battle  or  of  war.” 

The  high-minded  maiden  concluded  the  argument 
in  a  tone  of  sorrow,  which  deeply  expressed  her  sense 
of  the  degradation  of  her  people,  embittered  perhaps 
by  the  idea  that  Ivanhoe  considered  her  as  one,  not 
entitled  to  interfere  in  a  case  of  honor,  and  incapable 
of  entertaining  or  expressing  sentiments  of  honor  and 
generosity. 

“How  little  he  knows  this  bosom,  she  said,  to 
imagine  that  cowardice  or  meanness  of  soul  must 
needs  be  its  guests,  because  I  have  censured  the  fan¬ 
tastic  chivalry  of  the  Nazarenes!  Would  to  heaven 


J  uuge  vn. 

2Meaning  Judas  Mlaccabeus,  a  Jewish  leader  who  with 
his  family  fought  for  the  delivery  of  Judea  from  the 
Syrians. 


394 


IVANHOE 


that  the  shedding  of  mine  own  blood,  drop  by  drop, 
could  redeem  the  captivity  of  Judah!  Nay,  would 
to  God  it  could  avail  to  set  free  my  father,  and  this 
his  benefactor,  from  the  chains  of  the  oppressor ! 
The  proud  Christian  should  then  see  whether  the 
daughter  of  God’s  chosen  people  dared  not  to  die  as 
bravely  as  the  vainest  Nazarene  maiden,  that  boasts 
her  descent  from  some  petty  chieftain  of  the  rude 
and  frozen  north!” 

She  then  looked  towards  the  couch  of  the  wounded 
knight. 

“He  sleeps,”  she  said;  “nature  exhausted  by  suf¬ 
ferance  and  the  waste  of  spirits,  his  wearied  frame 
embraces  the  first  moment  of  temporary  relaxation 
to  sink  into  slumber.  Alas!  is  it  a  crime  that  I 
should  look  upon  him,  when  it  may  be  for  the  last 
time? — When  yet  but  a  short  space,  and  those  fair 
features  will  be  no  longer  animated  by  the  bold  and 
buoyant  spirit  which  forsakes  them  not  even  in  sleep! 
— When  the  nostril  shall  be  distended,  the  mouth 
agape,  the  eyes  fixed  and  bloodshot;  and  when  the 
proud  and  noble  knight  may  be  trodden  on  by  the 
lowest  caitiff  of  this  accursed  castle,  yet  stir  not 
when  the  heel  is  lifted  up  against  him!  And  my 
father! — oh,  my  father!  even  it  is  with  his  daughter, 
when  his  gray  hairs  are  not  remembered  because  of 
the  golden  locks  of  youth! — What  know  I  but  that 
these  evils  are  the  messengers  of  Jehovah’s  wrath  to 
the  unnatural  child,  who  thinks  of  a  stranger’s  cap¬ 
tivity  before  a  parent’s?  who  forgets  the  desolation 
of  Judah,  and  looks  upon  the  comeliness  of  a  Gentile 
and  a  stranger? — But  I  will  tear  this  folly  from  my 
heart,  though  every  fiber  bleed  as  I  rend  it  away!” 

She  wrapped  herself  closely  in  her  veil,  and  sat 
down  at  a  distance  from  the  couch  of  the  wounded 
knight,  with  her  back  turned  towards  it,  fortifying, 


IVANHOE 


395 


or  endeavoring  to  fortify  her  mind,  not  only  against 
the  impending  evils  from  without,  but  also  against 
those  treacherous  feelings  which  assailed  her  from 
within. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


Approach  the  chamber,  look  upon  his  bed. 

His  is  the  passing  of  no  peaceful  ghost, 

Which,  as  the  lark  arises  to  the  sky, 

’Mid  morning’s  sweetest  breeze  and  softest  dew, 

Is  wing’d  to  heaven  by  good  men’s  sighs  and  tears ! — 

Anselm  parts  otherwise. 

Old  Play. 

During  the  interval  of  quiet  which  followed  the 
first  success  of  the  besiegers,  while  the  one  party 
was  preparing  to  pursue  their  advantage,  and  the 
other  to  strengthen  their  means  of  defense,  the  Tem¬ 
plar  and  De  Bracy  held  brief  counsel  together  in  the 
hall  of  the  castle. 

“Where  is  Front-de-Boeuf  ?”  said  the  latter,  who 
had  superintended  the  defense  of  the  fortress  on  the 
other  side;  “men  say  he  hath  been  slain.” 

“He  lives,”  \said  the  Templar,  coolly,  “lives  as 
yet;  but  had  he  worn  the  bull’s  head  of  which  he 
bears  the  name,  and  ten  plates  of  iron  to  fence  it 
withal,  he  must  have  gone  down  before  yonder  fatal 
ax.  Yet  a  few  hours,  and  Front-de-Bceuf  is  with 
his  fathers — a  powerful  limb  lopped  off  Prince  John’s 
enterprise.” 

“And  a  brave  addition  to  the  kingdom  of  Satan,” 
said  De  Bracy;  “this  comes  of  reviling  saints  and 
angels,  and  ordering  images  of  holy  things  and  holy 
men  to  be  flung  down  on  the  heads  of  these  rascaille 
yeomen.” 

“Go  to — thou  art  a  fool,”  said  the  Templar;  “thy 
superstition  is  upon  a  level  with  Front-de-Boeuf’s 
want  of  faith ;  neither  of  you  can  render  a  reason  for 
your  belief  or  unbelief.” 

Question:  Does  Ivauhoe  suspect  that  Rebecca  loves 
him? 


IVANH0E 


397 


“Benedicite,1  Sir  Templar,”  replied  De  Bracy,  “I 
pray  you  to  keep  better  rule  with  your  tongue  when 
I  am  the  theme  of  it.  By  the  Mother  of  Heaven,  I 
am  a  better  Christian  man  than  thou  and  thy  fellow¬ 
ship  ;  for  the  bruit 2  goeth  shrewdly  out,  that  the  most 
holy  Order  of  the  Temple  of  Zion  nurseth  not  a  few 
heretics  within  its  bosom,  and  that  Sir  Brian  de  Bois- 
Guilbert  is  of  the  number.” 

“Care  not  thou  for  such  reports,”  said  the  Tem¬ 
plar;  “but  let  us  think  of  making  good  the  cas¬ 
tle. — How  fought  these  villain  yeomen  on  thy  side?” 

“Like  fiends  incarnate,”  said  De  Bracy.  “They 
swarmed  close  up  to  the  walls,  headed,  as  I  think, 
by  the  knave  who  won  the  prize  at  the  archery,  for 
I  knew  his  horn  and  baldric.  And  this  is  old  Fitzurse’s 
boasted  policy,  encouraging  these  malapert  knaves  to 
rebel  against  us!  Had  I  not  been  armed  in  proof,  the 
villain  had  marked  me  down  seven  times  with  as 
little  remorse  as  if  I  had  been  a  buck  in  season.  He 
tore  every  rivet  on  my  armor  with  a  cloth-yard  shaft, 
that  rapped  against  my  ribs  with  as  little  compunc¬ 
tion  as  if  my  bones  had  been  of  iron.  But  that  I 
wore  a  shirt  of  Spanish  mail  under  my  plate-coat,  I 
had  been  fairly  sped.” 

“But  you  maintained  your  post?”  said  the  Templar. 
“We  lost  the  outwork  on  our  part.” 

“That  is  a  shrewd  loss,”  said  De  Bracy;  “the 
knaves  will  find  cover  there  to  assault  the  castle  more 
closely,  and  may,  if  not  well  watched,  gain  some  un¬ 
guarded  corner  of  a  tower,  or  some  forgotten  win¬ 
dow,  and  so  break  in  upon  us.  Our  members  are 
too  few  for  the  defense  of  every  point,  and  the  men 
complain  that  they  can  nowhere  show  themselves,  but 
they  are  the  mark  for  as  many  arrows  as  a  parish- 


JBless  you. 

2Report. 


398 


Ivan  hoe 


butt  on  a  holyday  even,  Front-de-Boeuf  is  dying  too, 
so  we  shall  receive  no  more  aid  from  his  bull’s  head 
and  brutal  strength.  How  think  you,  Sir  Brian, 
were  we  not  better  make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and 
compound  with  the  rogues  by  delivering  up  our 
prisoners?” 

‘‘How?”  exclaimed  the  Templar;  “deliver  up  our 
prisoners,  and  stand  an  object  alike  of  ridicule  and 
execration,  as  the  doughty  warriors  who  dared  by  a 
night-attack  to  possess  themselves  of  the  persons  of 
a  party  of  defenseless  travelers,  yet  could  not  make 
good  a  strong  castle  against  a  vagabond  troop  of  out¬ 
laws,  led  by  swineherds,  jesters,  and  the  very  refuse 
of  mankind? — Shame  on  thy  counsel,  Maurice  de 
Bracy ! — The  ruins  of  this  castle  shall  bury  both  my 
body  and  my  shame,  ere  I  consent  to  such  base  and 
dishonorable  composition.” 

“Let  us  to  the  walls,  then,”  said  De  Bracy,  care¬ 
lessly;  “that  man  never  breathed,  be  he  Turk  or 
Templar,  who  held  life  at  lighter  rate  than  I  do. 
But  I  trust  there  is  no  dishonor  in  wishing  I  had  here 
some  two  scores  of  my  gallant  troop  of  Free  Com¬ 
panions? — Oh,  my  brave  lances!  if  ye  knew  but  how 
hard  your  captain  were  this  day  bested,  how  soon 
should  I  see  my  banner  at  the  head  of  your  clump 
of  spears!.  And  how  short  while  would  these  rab¬ 
ble  villains  stand  to  endure  your  encounter!” 

“Wish  for  whom  thou  wilt,”  said  the  Templar, 
“but  let  us  make  what  defense  we  can  with  the  sol¬ 
diers  who  remain.  They  are  chiefly  Front-de-Bceuf’s 
followers,  hated  by  the  English  for  a  thousand  acts 
of  insolence  and  oppression.” 

“The  better,”  said  De  Bracy;  “the  rugged  slaves 
will  defend  themselves  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood, 
ere  they  encounter  the  revenge  of  the  peasants  with¬ 
out.  Let  us  up  and  be  doing,  then,  Brian  de  Bois- 


IVANHOE 


399 


Guilbert;  and,  liv§  or  die,  thou  shalt  see  Maurice 
De  Bracy  bear  himself  this  day  as  a  gentleman  of 
blood  and  lineage.” 

“To  the  walls !”  answered  the  Templar;  and  they 
both  ascended  the  battlements  to  do  all  that  skill 
could  dictate,  and  manhood  accomplish,  in  defense 
of  the  place.  They  readily  agreed  that  the  point  of 
greatest  danger  was  that  opposite  to  the  outwork  of 
which  the  assailants  had  possessed  themselves.  The 
castle,  indeed,  was  divided  from  the  barbican  by  the 
moat,  and  it  was  impossible  that  the  besiegers  could 
assail  the  postern-door,  with  which  the  outwork  cor¬ 
responded,  without  surmounting  that  obstacle ;  but 
it  was  the  opinion  both  of  the  Templar  and  De  Bracy, 
that  the  besiegers,  if  governed  by  the  same  policy 
their  leader  had  already  displayed,  would  endeavor, 
by  a  formidable  assault,  to  draw  the  chief  part  of  the 
defenders’  observation  to  this  point,  and  take  measures 
to  avail  themselves  of  every  negligence  which  might 
take  place  in  the  defense  elsewhere.  To  guard  against 
such  an  evil,  their  numbers  only  permitted  the  knight 
to  place  sentinels  from  space  to  space  along  the  wails 
in  communication  with  each  other,  who  might  give 
the  alarm  whenever  danger  was  threatened.  Mean¬ 
while,  they  agreed  that  De  Bracy  should  command 
the  defense  at  the  postern,  and  the  Templar  should 
keep  with  him  a  score  of  men  or  thereabouts  as  a  body 
of  reserve,  ready  to  hasten  to  any  other  point  which 
might  be  suddenly  threatened.  The  loss  of  the  bar¬ 
bican  had  also  this  unfortunate  effect,  that,  notwith¬ 
standing  the  superior  height  of  the  castle  walls,  the 
besieged  could  not  see  from  them,  with  the  same 
precision  as  before,  the  operations  of  the  enemy;  for 
some  straggling  underwood  approached  so  near  the 
sallyport  of  the  outwork,  that  the  assailants  might 
introduce  into  it  whatever  force  they  thought  proper, 


400 


IVANHOE 


not  only  under  cover,  but  even  without  the  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  defenders.  Utterly  uncertain  therefore, 
upon  what  point  the  storm  was  to  burst,  De  Bracy 
and  his  companion  were  under  the  necessity  of  pro¬ 
viding  against  every  possible  contingency,  and  their 
followers,  however  brave,  experienced  the  anxious  de¬ 
jection  of  mind  incident  to  men  inclosed  by  enemies, 
who  possessed  the  power  of  choosing  their  time  and 
mode  of  attack. 

Meanwhile,  the  lord  of  the  beleaguered  and  en¬ 
dangered  castle  lay  upon  a  bed  of  bodily  pain  and 
mental  agony.  He  had  not  the  usual  resource  of 
bigots  in  that  superstitious  period,  most  of  whom 
were  wont  to  atone  for  the  crimes  they  were  guilty 
of  by  liberality  to  the  church,  stupefying  by  this 
means  their  terrors  by  the  idea  of  atonement  and  for¬ 
giveness;  and  although  the  refuge  which  success  thus 
purchased,  was  no  more  like  to  the  peace  of  mind 
which  follows  on  sincere  repentance,  than  the  turbid 
stupefaction  procured  by  opium  resembles  healthy 
and  natural  slumbers,  it  was  still  a  state  of  mind 
preferable  to  the  agonies  of  awakened  remorse.  But 
among  the  vices  of  Front-de-Boeuf,  a  hard  and  grip¬ 
ing  man,  avarice  was  predominant;  and  he  preferred 
setting  church  and  churchmen  at  defiance,  to  pur¬ 
chasing  from  them  pardon  and  absolution  at  the  price 
of  treasure  and  of  manors.  Nor  did  the  Templar,  an 
infidel  of  another  stamp,  justly  characterize  his  asso¬ 
ciate,  when  he  said  Front-de-Bceuf  could  assign  no 
cause  for  his  unbelief  and  contempt  for  the  estab¬ 
lished  faith;  for  the  Baron  would  have  alleged  that 
the  Church  sold  her  wares  too  dear,  that  the  spiritual 
freedom  which  she  put  up  to  sale  was  only  to  be 
bought  like  that  of  the  chief  captain  of  Jerusalem, 
“with  a  great  sum,”1  and  Front-de-Boeuf  preferred 


1Acts  XXII,  28, 


IVANHOE 


401 


denying  the  virtue  of  the  medicine,  to  paying  the 
ixpense  of  the  physician. 

But  the  moment  had  now  arrived  when  earth  and 
111  his  treasures  were  gliding  from  before  his  eyes, 
md  when  the  savage  Baron's  heart,  though  hard  as 
a  nether  millstone,  became  appalled  as  he  gazed  for¬ 
ward  into  the  waste  darkness  of  futurity.  The  fever 
)f  his  body  aided  the  impatience  and  agony  of  his 
nind,  and  his  death-bed  exhibited  a  mixture  of  the 
lewly  awakened  feelings  of  horror,  combatting  with 
:he  fixed  and  inveterate  obstinacy  of  his  disposition; 
— a  fearful  state  of  mind,  only  to  be  equalled  in 
those  tremendous  regions,  where  there  are  complaints 
without  hope,  remorse  without  repentance,  a  dread¬ 
ful  sense  of  present  agony,  and  a  presentiment  that 
it  cannot  cease  or  be  diminished! 

“Where  be  these  dog-priests  now,"  growled  the 
Baron,  “who  set  such  price  on  their  ghostly  mum¬ 
mery? — where  be  all  those  unshod  Carmelites,  for 
whom  old  Front-de-Boeuf  founded  the  convent  of  St. 
Anne,  robbing  his  heir  of  many  a  fair  rood  of 
meadow,  and  many  a  fat  field  and  close — where  be 
the  greedy  hounds  now? — Swilling,  I  warrant  me, 
at  the  ale,  or  playing  their  juggling  tricks  at  the  bed¬ 
side  of  some  miserly  churl. — Me,  the  heir  of  their 
founder — me,  whom  their  foundation  binds  them  to 
pray  for — me — ungrateful  villains  as  they  are! 
they  suffer  to  die  like  the  houseless  dog  on  yonder 
common,  unshriven  and  unhoused! — Tell  the  Temp¬ 
lar  to  come  hither— he  is  a  priest,  and  may  do 
something.  But  no! — as  well  confess  myself  to  the 
devil  as  to  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  who  recks  neither 
of  heaven  nor  of  hell. — I  have  heard  old  men  talk 
of  prayer — prayer  by  their  own  voice — such  need  not 
to  court  or  to  bribe  the  false  priest.  But  I  I  dare 
not!" 


402 


IVANHOE 


“Lives  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,”  said  a  broker 
and  shrill  voice  close  by  his  bedside,  “to  say  then 
is  that  which  he  dares  not!” 

The  evil  conscience  and  the  shaken  nerves  of  Front- 
de-Bceuf  heard,  in  this  strange  interruption  to  his 
soliloquy,  the  voice  of  one  of  those  demons,  who,  as 
the  superstition  of  the  times  believed,  beset  the  beds 
of  dying  men,  to  distract  their  thoughts,  and  turr 
them  from  the  meditations  which  concerned  theii 
eternal  welfare.  He  shuddered  and  drew  himself  to¬ 
gether;  but,  instantly  summoning  up  his  wonted  reso¬ 
lution,  he  exclaimed,  “Who  is  there?— what  art  thou: 
that  darest  to  echo  my  words  in  a  tone  like  that  of  the 
night-raven? — Come  before  my  couch  that  I  may 
see  thee.” 

“I  am  thine  evil  angel,  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,’ 
replied  the  voice. 

“Let  me  behold  thee,  then,  in  they  bodily  3hape,  ij 
thou  be’st  indeed  a  fiend,”  replied  the  dying  knight; 
“think  not  that  I  will  blench  from  thee. — By  the 
eternal  dungeon,  could  I  but  grapple  with  these  hor¬ 
rors  that  hover  round  me,  as  I  have  done  with  mortal 
dangers,  heaven  or  hell  should  never  say  that  1 
shrunk  from  the  conflict!” 

“Think  on  thy  sins,  Reginald  Front-de-Bceuf,’ 
said  the  almost  unearthly  voice,  “on  rebellion,  on 
rapine,  on  murder! — Who  stirred  up  the  licentious 
John  to  war  against  his  gray-headed  father — against 
his  generous  brother?” 

“Be  thou  fiend,  priest,  or  devil,”  replied  Front-de- 
Bceuf,  “thou  liest  in  thy  throat! — Not  I  stirred  John 
to  rebellion — not  I  alone — there  were  fifty  knights 
and  barons,  the  flower  of  the  midland  counties — bet¬ 
ter  men  never  laid  lance  in  rest. — And  must  I  answer 
for  the  fault  done  by  fifty? — False  fiend,  I  defy  thee! 
Depart,  and  haunt  my  couch  no  more — let  me  die  in 


IVANHOE 


403 


beace  if  thou  be  mortal — if  thou  be  a  demon,  thy  time 
s  not  yet  come.” 

“In  peace  thou  shalt  NOT  die,”  repeated  the  voice; 
‘even  in  death  shalt  thou  think  on  thy  murders — on 
:he  groans  which  this  castle  has  echoed — on  the 
alood  that  is  engrained  in  its  floors!” 

“Thou  canst  not  shake  me  by  thy  petty  malice.” 
answered  Front-de-Boeuf,  with  a  ghastly  and  con¬ 
strained  laugh.  ‘‘The  infidel  Jew — it  was  merit  with 
heaven  to  deal  with  him  as  I  did,  else  wherefore  are 
men  canonized  who  dip  their  hands  in  the  blood  of 
Saracens? — the  Saxon  porkers,  whom  I  have  slain, 
ithey  were  the  foes  of  my  country,  and  of  my  lineage, 
and  of  my  liege  lord. — Ho!  ho!  thou  seest  there  is 
no  crevice  in  my  coat  of  plate. — Art  thou  fled? — art 
thou  silenced?” 

“No,  foul  parricide!”  replied  the  voice;  “think  of 
thy  father! — think  of  his  death!— think  of  his  ban¬ 
quet-room  flooded  with  his  gore,  and  that  poured 
forth  by  the  hand  of  a  son!” 

“Ha!”  answered  the  Baron,  after  a  long  pause,  “an 
thou  knowest  that,  thou  art  indeed  the  author  of  evil, 
and  as  omniscient  as  the  monks  call  thee! — That  se¬ 
cret  I  deemed  locked  in  my  own  breast,  and  in  that 
of  one  besides — the  temptress,  the  partaker  of  my 
guilt. — Go,  leave  me,  fiend!  and  seek  the  Saxon  witch 
Ulrica,  who  alone  could  tell  thee  what  she  and  I  alone 
witnessed— Go,  I  say,  to  her,  who  washed  the  wounds, 
and  straightened  the  corpse,  and  gave  to  the  slain 
man  the  outward  show  of  one  parted  in  time  and  in 
the  course  of  nature— Go  to  her;  she  was  my  temp¬ 
tress,  the  foul  provoker,  the  more  foul  rewarder,  of 
the  deed — let  her,  as  well  as  I,  taste  of  the  tortures 
which  anticipate  hell!” 

“She  already  tastes  them,”  said  Ulrica,  stepping 
before  the  couch  of  Front-de-Boeuf;  “she  hath  long 


404 


Ivan  hoe 


drunken  of  this  cup,  and  its  bitterness  is  now  sweet¬ 
ened  to  see  that  thou  dost  partake  it. — Grind  not  thy 
teeth,  Front-de-Bceuf — roll  not  thine  eyes — clench  not 
thy  hand,  nor  shake  it  at  me  with  that  gesture  of 
menace! — The  hand  which,  like  that  of  thy  renowned 
ancestor  who  gained  thy  name,  could  have  broken 
with  one  stroke  the  skull  of  a  mountain-bull,  is  now 
unnerved  and  powerless  as  mine  own!” 

“Vile  murderous  hag!”  replied  Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“detestable  screech-owl!  it  is  then  thou  who  art  come 
to  exult  over  the  ruins  thou  hast  assisted  to  lay  low?” 

“Ay,  Reginald  Front-de-Boeuf,”  answered  she,  “it 
is  Ulrica! — it  is  the  daughter  of  the  murdered  Tor- 
quil  Wolfganger! — it  is  the  sister  of  his  slaughtered 
sons! — it  is  she  who  demands  of  thee,  and  of  thy 
father’s  house,  father  and  kindred,  name  and  fame — 
all  that  she  has  lost  by  the  name  of  Front-de-Boeuf ! 
— Think  of  my  wrongs,  Front-de-Boeuf,  and  answer 
me  if  I  speak  not  truth.  Thou  hast  been  my  evil 
angel,  and  I  will  be  thine — I  will  dog  thee  till  the  very 
instant  of  dissolution!” 

“Detestable  fury!”  exclaimed  Front-de-Boeuf,  “that 
moment  shalt  thou  never  witness — Ho!  Giles,  Clem¬ 
ent,  and  Eustace!  St.  Maur,  and  Stephen;  seize  this 
damned  witch,  and  hurl  her  from  the  battlements, 
headlong — she  has  betrayed  us  to  the  Saxon!  Ho! 
St.  Maur!  Clement!  false-hearted  knaves,  where  tarry 
ye?” 

“Call  on  them  again,  valiant  Baron,”  said  the  hag, 
with  a  smile  of  grisly  mockery;  “summon  thy  vas¬ 
sals  around  thee,  doom  them  that  loiter  to  the  scourge 
and  the  dungeon — but  know,  mighty  chief,”  she  con¬ 
tinued,  suddenly  changing  her  tone,  “thou  shalt  have 
neither  answer,  nor  aid,  nor  obedience  at  their  hands. 
Listen  to  these  horrid  sounds,”  for  the  din  of  the  re¬ 
commenced  assault  and  defense  now  rung  fearfully 


IVANHOE 


405 


| 

oud  from  the  battlements  of  the  castle;  “in  that 
war-cry  is  the  downfall  of  thy  house — the  blood- 
cemented  fabric  of  Front-de-Boeuf’s  power  totters  to 
;he  foundation,  and  before  the  foes  he  most  despised! 
—The  Saxon,  Reginald! —  the  scorned  Saxon  assails 
;hy  walls ! — Why  liest  thou  here,  like  a  worn-out  hind, 
when  the  Saxon  storms  thy  place  of  strength?” 

“Gods  and  fiends!”  exclaimed  the  wounded  knight;” 
0,  for  one  moment’s  strength,  to  drag  myself  to  the 
melee  and  perish  as  becomes  my  name!” 

“Think  not  of  it,  valiant  warrior!”  replied  she; 
“thou  shalt  die  no  soldier’s  death,  but  perish  like 
the  fox  in  his  den,  when  the  peasants  have  set  fire 
to  the  cover  around  it.” 

“Hateful  hag!  thou  liest!”  exclaimed  Front-de- 
Boeuf ;  “my  followers  bear  them  bravely — my  walls 
are  strong  and  high — my  comrades  in  arms  fear  not 
a  whole  host  of  Saxons,  were  they  headed  by  Hen- 
gist  and  Horsa! — the  war-cry  of  the  Templar  and  of 
the  Free  Companions  rises  high  over  the  conflict!  And 
by  mine  honor,  when  we  kindle  the  blazing  beacon, 
for  joy  of  our  defense,  it  shall  consume  thee,  body 
and  bones;  and  I  shall  live  to  hear  thou  art  gone 
from  earthly  fires  to  those  of  that  hell,  which  never 
sent  forth  an  incarnate  fiend  more  utterly  dia¬ 
bolical  !” 

“Hold  thy  belief,”  replied  Ulrica,  “till  the  proof 
reach  thee.— But,  no!”  she  said  interrupting  her¬ 
self,  “thou  shalt  know,  even  now,  the  doom,  which 
all  thy  power,  strength,  and  courage  is  unable  to 
avoid,  though  it  is  prepared  for  thee  by  this  feeble 
hand.  Markest  thou  the  smoldering  and  suffocating 
7apor  which  already  eddies  in  sable  folds  through 
the  chamber?— Didst  thou  think  it  was  but  the  dark¬ 
ening  of  thy  bursting  eyes — the  difficulty  of  thy 
cumbered  breathing?  No!  Front-de-Boeuf,  there  is 


406 


Ivan  hoe 


another  cause. — Rememberest  thou  the  magazine  of 
fuel  that  is  stored  beneath  these  apartments?” 

“Woman!”  he  exclaimed  with  fury,  “thou  hast  not 
set  fire  to  it? — By  heaven,  thou  hast,  and  the  castle 
is  in  flames!” 

“They  are  fast  rising,  at  least,”  said  Ulrica,  with 
frightful  composure;  “and  a  signal  shall  soon  wave 
to  warn  the  besiegers  to  press  hard  upon  those  who 
would  extinguish  them. — Farewell,  Front-de-Boeuf ! 
— Miay  Mista,  Skogula,  and  Zernebock,  gods  of  the 
ancient  Saxons — fiends,  as  the  priests  now  call  them 
— supply  the  place  of  comforters  at  your  dying  bed, 
which  Ulrica  now  relinquishes ! — But  know,  if  it 
will  give  thee  comfort  to  know  it,  that  Ulrica  is 
bound  to  the  same  dark  coast  with  thyself,  the 
companion  of  thy  punishment  as  the  companion  of 
thy  guilt. — And  now,  parricide,  farewell  forever! — 
May  each  stone  of  this  vaulted  roof  find  a  tongue  to 
echo  that  title  into  thine  ear!” 

So  saying,  she  left  the  apartment;  and  Front-de- 
Boeuf  could  hear  the  crash  of  the  ponderous  key,  as 
she  locked  and  double-locked  the  door  behind  her, 
thus  cutting  off  the  most  slender  chance  of  escape. 
In  the  extremity  of  agony  he  shouted  upon  his  ser¬ 
vants  and  allies — “Stephen  and  St.  Maur! — Clement 
and  Giles — I  burn  here  unaided! — To  the  rescue — 
to  the  rescue,  brave  Bois-Guilbert,  valiant  De  Bracy! 
— It  is  Front-de-Boeuf  who  calls! — It  is  your  master, 
ye  traitor  squires ! — Your  ally — your  brother  in  arms, 
ye  perjured  and  faithless  knights! — all  the  curses 
due  to  traitors  upon  your  recreant  heads,  do  you 
abandon  me  to  perish  thus  miserably! — They  near 

Question:  What  did  Ulrica  do  to  aid  the  Saxons? 

Question  :  Why  could  Front-de-Bceuf.  not  get  out  of  his 
room? 


IVANHOE 


407 


;ie  not — they  cannot  hear  me — my  voice  is  lost  in  the 
iin  of  battle. — The  smoke  rolls  thicker  and  thicker — 
he  fire  has  caught  upon  the  floor  below — 0,  for  one 
raught  of  the  air  of  heaven,  were  it  to  be  purchased 
y  instant  annihilation!”  And  in  the  mad  frenzy  ot 
s.espair,  the  wretch  now  shouted  with  the  shouts  of 
he  fighters,  now  muttered  curses  on  himself,  on  man- 
:ind,  and  on  Heaven  itself— “The  red  fire  flashes 
hrough  the  thick  smoke!”  he  exclaimed;  “the  demon 
narches  against  me  under  the  banner  of  his  own 
slement. — Foul  spirit,  avoid! — I  go  not  with  thee 
vithout  my  comrades — all,  all  are  thine,  that  gar- 
*ison  these  walls. — Thinkest  thou  Front-de-Boeuf 
vill  be  singled  out  to  go  alone? — No — the  infidel 
Templar — De  Bracy — Ulrica,  the  men  who  aided  my 
Enterprises — the  dog  Saxons  and  accursed  Jews,  who 
ire  my  prisoners — all,  all  shall  attend  me — a  goodly 
fellowship  as  ever  took  the  downward  road. — Ha 
aa,  ha!”  and  he  laughed  in  his  frenzy  till  the  vaulted 
roof  rang"  again.  “Who  laughed  there?”  exclaimed 
Front-de-Boeuf,  in  altered  mood,  for  the  noise  of 
the  conflict  did  not  prevent  the  echoes  of  his  own 
mad  laughter  from  returning  upon  his  ear — “who 
laughed  there? — Ulrica,  was  it  thou? — Speak,  witch, 
and  I  forgive  thee— for,  only  thou  or  the  fiend  of  hell 
himself  could  have  laughed  at  such  a  moment. 
Avaunt — avaunt ! — ” 

But  it  were  impious  to  trace  any  farther  the  pic¬ 
ture  of  a  blasphemer  and  parricide’s  death-bed. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more. 

Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead. 

- — And  you,  good  yeomen, 

Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 

The  mettle  of  your  pasture — let  us  swear 

That  you  are  worth  your  breeding. 

King  Henry  V. 

Cedric,  although  not  greatly  confident  in  Ulrica') 
message,  omitted  not  to  communicate  her  promise  t< 
the  Black  Knight  and  Locksley.  They  were  wel 
pleased  to  find  they  had  a  friend  within  the  place 
who  might,  in  the  moment  of  need,  be  able  to  facil 
itate  their  entrance,  and  readily  agreed  with  th< 
Saxon  that  a  storm  under  whatever  disadvantages 
ought  to  be  attempted,  as  the  only  means  of  lib 
erating  the  prisoners  now  in  the  hands  of  the  crue 
Front-de-Boeuf. 

“The  royal  blood  of  Alfred  is  endangered,”  sai< 
Cedric. 

“The  honor  of  a  noble  lady  is  in  peril,”  said  th- * 
Black  Knight. 

“And,  by  the  St.  Christopher  at  my  baldric,”  sai< 
the  good  yeoman,  “were  there  no  other  cause  tha1, 
the  safety  of  that  poor  faithful  knave,  Wamba, 
would  jeopard  a  joint  ere  a  hair  of  his  head  wer 
hurt.” 

“And  so  would  I,”  said  the  Friar;  “what,  sirs! 
trust  well  that  a  fool — I  mean,  d'ye  see  me,  sirs, 
fool  that  is  free  of  his  guild1  and  master  of  his  crafi 
and  can  give  as  much  relish  and  flavor  to  a  cup  o 
wine  as  ever  a  flitch  of  bacon  can — I  say,  brethrei 
such  a  fool  shall  never  want  a  wise  clerk  to  pray  fo 


*A  fool  enjoying  the  special  privileges  granted  to  a  jeste; 


IVANHOE 


409 


or  fight  for  him  at  a  strait,  while  I  can  say  a  mass 
or  flourish  a  partisan.” 

And  with  that  he  made  his  heavy  halberd  to  play 
around  his  head  as  a  shepherd  boy  flourishes  his 
light  crook. 

“True,  Holy  Clerk,”  said  the  Black  Knight,  “true 
as  if  St.  Dunstan  himself  had  said  it. — And  now, 
good  Locksley,  were  it  not  well  that  noble  Cedric 
should  assume  the  direction  of  this  assault?” 

“Not  a  jot  I,”  returned  Cedric;  “I  have  never 
been  wont  to  study  either  how  to  take  or  how  to  hold 
out  those  abodes  of  tyrannic  power  which  the  Nor¬ 
mans  have  erected  in  this  groaning  land.  I  will 
fight  among  the  foremost;  but  my  honest  neighbors 
well  know  I  am  not  -a  trained  soldier  in  the  disci¬ 
pline  of  wars,  or  the  attack  of  strongholds.” 

“Since  it  stands  thus  with  noble  Cedric,”  said 
Locksley,  “I  am  most  willing  to  take  on  me  the 
direction  of  the  archery;  and  ye  shall  hang  me  up  on 
my  own  trysting-tree,  and  the  defenders  be  permitted 
to  show  themselves  over  the  walls  without  being 
stuck  with  as  many  shafts  as  there  are  clovers  in  a 
gammon  of  bacon  at  Christmas.” 

“Well  said,  stout  yeoman,”  answered  the  Black 
Knight;  “and  if  I  be  thought  worthy  to  have  a 
charge  in  these  matters,  and  can  find  among  these 
brave  men  as  many  as  arg  willing  to  follow  a  true 
English  knight,  for  so  I  may  surely  call  myself,  I 
am  ready,  with  such  skill  as  my  experience  has 
taught  me,  to  lead  them  to  the  attack  of  these  walls.” 

The  parts  being  thus  distributed  to  the  leaders, 
they  commenced  the  first  assault,  of  which  the  read¬ 
er  has  already  heard  the  issue. 

When  the  barbican  was  carried,  the  Sable  Knight 
sent  notice  of  the  happy  event  to  Locksley,  request¬ 
ing  him  at  the  same  time,  to  keep  such  a  strict 


410 


Ivan  hoe 


observation  on  the  castle  as  might  prevent  the  de¬ 
fenders  from  combining  their  force  for  a  sudden 
sally,  and  recovering  the  outwork  which  they  had 
lost.  This  the  knight  was  chiefly  desirous  of  avoid¬ 
ing,  conscious  that  the  men  whom  he  led,  being  hasty 
and  untrained  volunteers,  imperfectly  armed  and 
unaccustomed  to  discipline,  must,  upon  any  sudden 
attack,  fight  at  great  disadvantage  with  the  veteran 
soldiers  of  the  Norman  knights,  who  were  well  pro¬ 
vided  with  arms  both  defensive  and  offensive;  and 
who,  to  match  the  zeal  and  high  spirit  of  the  be¬ 
siegers,  had  all  the  confidence  which  arises  from 
perfect  discipline  and  the  habitual  use  of  weapons. 

The  knight  employed  the  interval  in  causing  to  be 
constructed  a  sort  of  floating  bridge,  or  long  raft,  by 
means  of  which  he  hoped  to  cross  the  moat  in  despite 
of  the  resistance  of  the  enemy.  This  was  a  work 
of  some  time,  which  the  leaders  the  less  regretted,  as 
it  gave  Ulrica  leisure  to  execute  her  plan  of  diver¬ 
sion  in  their  favor,  whatever  that  might  be. 

When  the  raft  was  completed,  the  Black  Knight 
addressed  the  besiegers: — “It  avails  not  waiting 
here  longer,  my  friends;  the  sun  is  descending  to  the 
west — and  I  have  that  upon  my  hands  which  will 
not  permit  me  to  tarry  with  you  another  day.  Be¬ 
sides,  it  will  be  a  marvel  if  the  horsemen  come  not 
upon  us  from  York,  unless  we  speedily  accomplish 
our  purpose.  Wherefore,  one  of  ye  go  to  Locksley, 
and  bid  him  commence  a  discharge  of  arrows  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  castle,  and  move  forward  as  if 
about  to  assault  it;  and  you,  true  English  hearts, 
stand  by  me,  and  be  ready  to  thrust  the  raft  endlong 
over  the  moat  whenever  the  postern  on  our  side  is 
thrown  open.  Follow  me  boldly  across,  and  aid  me 
to  burst  yon  sallyport  in  the  main  wall  of  the  castle. 
As  many  of  you  as  like  not  this  service,  or  are  but 
ill  armed  to  meet  it,  do  you  man  the  top  of  the  out- 


Ivan  hoe 


411 


vork,  draw  your  bowstrings  to  your  ears,  and  mind 
^ou  quell  with  your  shot  whatever  shall  appear  to 
nan  the  rampart. — Noble  Cedric,  wilt  thou  take  the 
lirection  of  those  which  remain  ?” 

“Not  so,  by  the  soul  of  Hereward!”  said  the 
Saxon;  “lead  I  cannot;  but  may  posterity  curse  me 
in  my  grave,  if  I  follow  not  with  the  foremost  wher¬ 
ever  thou  shalt  point  the  way.  The  quarrel  is  mine, 
and  well  it  becomes  me  to  be  in  the  van  of  the 
battle.” 

“Yet,  bethink  thee,  noble  Saxon,”  said  the  knight, 
“thou  hast  neither  hauberk,  nor  corselet,  nor  aught 
but  that  light  helmet,  target,  and  sword.” 

“The  better!”  answered  Cedric;  “I  shall  be  the 
lighter  to  climb  these  walls.  And,— forgive  the  boast, 
Sir  Knight, — thou  shalt  this  day  see  the  naked 
breast  of  a  Saxon  as  boldly  presented  to  the  battle 
as  ever  ye  beheld  the  steel  corselet  of  a  Norman.” 

“In  the  name  of  God,  then,”  said  the  knight, 
“fling  open  the  door,  and  launch  the  floating 
bridge.” 

The  portal,  which  led  from  the  inner-wall  of  the 
barbican  to  the  moat,  and  which  corresponded  with 
a  sallyport  in  the  main  wall  of  the  castle,  was  now 
suddenly  opened;  the  temporary  bridge  was  then 
thrust  forward,  and  soon  flashed  in  the  waters,  ex¬ 
tending  its  length  between  the  castle  and  outwork, 
and  forming  a  slippery  and  precarious  passage  for 
two  men  abreast  to  cross  the  moat.  Well  aware  of 
the  importance  of  taking  the  foe  by  surprise,  the 
Black  Knight,  closely  followed  by  Cedric,  threw 
himself  upon  the  bridge,  and  reached  the  opposite 
side.  Here  he  began  to  thunder  with  his  ax  upon 
the  gate  of  the  castle,  protected  in  part  from  the  shot 
and  stones  cast  by  the  defenders  by  the  ruins  of 
the  former  drawbridge,  which  the  Templar  had  de¬ 
molished  in  his  retreat  from  the  barbican,  leaving 


412 


Ivan  hoe 


the  counterpoise1  still  attached  to  the  upper  part  of 
the  portal.  The  followers  of  the  knight  had  no  such 
shelter;  two  were  instantly  shot  with  crossbow  bolts, 
and  two  more  fell  into  the  moat;  the  others  retreated 
back  into  the  barbican. 

The  situation  of  Cedric  and  of  the  Black  Knight 
was  now  truly  dangerous,  and  would  have  been  still 
more  so,  but  for  the  constancy  of  the  archers  in  the 
barbican,  who  ceased  not  to  shower  their  arrows 
upon  the  battlements,  distracting  the  attention  ol‘ 
those  by  whom  they  were  manned,  and  thus  affording 
a  respite  to  their  two  chiefs  from  the  storm  of  mis¬ 
siles  which  must  otherwise  have  overwhelmed  them. 
But  their  situation  was  eminently  perilous,  and  was 
becoming  more  so  with  every  moment. 

“Shame  on  ye  all!”  cried  De  Bracy  to  the  soldiers 
around  him;  “do  ye  call  yourselves  crossbowmen, 
and  let  those  two  dogs  keep  their  station  under  the 
walls  of  the  castle? — Heave  over  the  coping  stones 
from  the  battlement,  an  better  may  not  be. — Get 
pickax  and  levers,  and  down  with  that  huge  pin¬ 
nacle!”  pointing  to  a  heavy  piece  of  stone  carved 
work  that  projected  from  the  parapet. 

At  this  moment  the  besiegers  caught  sight  of  the 
red  flag  upon  the  angle  of  the  tower  which  Ulrica 
had  described  to  Cedric.  The  stout  yeoman  Locksley 
was  the  first  who  was  aware  of  it,  as  he  was  hasting 
to  the  outwork,  impatient  to  see  the  progress  of  the 
assault. 

“Saint  George!”  he  cried,  “Merry  Saint  George 
for  England! — To  the  charge,  bold  yeomen! — why 
leave  ye  the  good  knight  and  noble  Cedric  to  storm 
the  pass  alone? — make  in,  mad  priest,  show  thou 
canst  fight  for  thy  rosary, — make  in,  brave  yeomen! 

1The  weights  balancing  the  bridge  so  that  it  might  be 
raised  or  lowered.. 


IVANHOE 


413 


— the  castle  is  ours,  we  have  friends  within.  See 
yonder  flag;  it  is  the  appointed  signal — Torquilstone 
is  lours! — Think  of  honor,  think  of  spoil !: — One 
effort,  and  the  place  is  ours!” 

With  that  he  bent  his  good  bow,  and  sent  a  shaft 
right  through  the  breast  of  one  of  the  men-at-arms, 
who,  under  De  Bracy’s  direction,  was  loosening  a 
fragment  from  one  of  the  embattlements  to  pre¬ 
cipitate  on  the  heads  of  Cedric  and  the  Black  Knight. 
A  second  soldier  caught  from  the  hands  of  the  dying 
man  the  iron  crow,  with  which  he  heaved  at  and 
had  loosened  the  stone  pinnacle,  when,  receiving  an 
arrow  through  his  head-piece,  he  dropped  from  the 
battlements  into  the  moat  a  dead  man.  The  men-at- 
arms  were  daunted,  for  no  armor  seemed  proof 
against  the  shot  of  this  tremendous  archer. 

“Do  you  give  ground,  base  knaves  !w  said  De 
Bracy;  “Mount  joye  Saint  Dennis!1 — Give  me  the 
lever!” 

And,  snatching  it  up,  he  again  assailed  the 
loosened  pinnacle,  which  was  of  weight  enough,  if 
thrown  down,  not  only  to  have  destroyed  the 
remnant  of  the  drawbridge,  which  sheltered  the  two 
foremost  assailants,  but  also  to  have  sunk  the  rude 
float  of  planks  over  which  they  had  crossed.  All  saw 
the  danger,  and  the  boldest,  even  the  stout  Friar 
himself,  avoided  setting  foot  on  the  raft.  Thrice  did 
Locksley  bend  his  shaft  against  De  Bracy,  and  thrice 
did  his  arrow  bound  back  from  the  knight’s  armor 
of  proof. 

“Curse  on  thy  Spanish  steel-coat!”  said  Locksley, 
“had  English  smith  forged  it,  these  arrows  had  gone 
through,  an  as  if  it  had  been  silk  or  sendal.”  He 

’The  battle  cry  of  the  French  crusaders.  Mount  Joye 
was  a  height  in  Paris  where,  according  to  tradition,  St. 
Dennis  suffered  martyrdom. 


414 


Ivan  hoe 


then  began  to  call  out,  “Comrades!  friends!  noble 
Cedric!  bear  back,  and  let  the  ruin  fall.” 

His  warning  voice  was  unheard,  for  the  din  which 
the  knight  himself  occasioned  by  his  strokes  upon 
the  postern  would  have  drowned  twenty  war-trum¬ 
pets.  The  faithful  Gurth  indeed  sprung  forward 
on  the  planked  bridge,  to  warn  Cedric  of  his  im¬ 
pending  fate,  or  to  share  it  with  him.  But  his  warn¬ 
ing  would  have  come  too  late;  the  massive  pinnacle 
already  tottered,  and  De  Bracy,  who  still  heaved 
at  his  task,  would  have  accomplished  it,  had  not  the 
voice  of  the  Templar  sounded  close  in  his  ears: — 

“All  is  lost,  De  Bracy;  the  castle  burns.” 

“Thou  art  mad  to  say  so!”  replied  the  knight. 

“It  is  all  in  a  light  flame  on  the  western  side.  I 
have  striven  in  vain  to  extinguish  it.” 

With  the  stern  coolness  which  formed  the  basis  of 
his  character,  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert  communicated 
this  hideous  intelligence,  which  was  not  so  calmly 
received  by  his  astonished  comrade. 

“Saints  of  Paradise!”  said  De  Bracy;  “what  is  to 
be  done?  I  vow  to  St.  Nicholas  of  Limoges  a  candle¬ 
stick  of  pure  gold - ” 

“Spare  thy  vow.”  said  the  Templar,  “and  mark 
me.  Lead  thy  men  down,  as  if  to  a  sally;  throw 
the  postern  gate  open — there  are  but  two  men  who 
occupy  the  float;  fling  them  into  the  moat,  and  push 
across  for  the  barbican.  I  will  charge  from  the  main 
gate,  and  attack  the  barbican  on  the  outside;  and  if 
we  can  regain  that  post,  be  assured  we  shall  defend 
ourselves  until  we  are  relieved,  or  at  last  till  they 
grant  us  fair  quarter.” 

“It  is  well  thought  upon,”  said  De  Bracy;  “I 
will  play,  my  part— Templar,  thou  wilt  not  fail 
me?” 

“Hand  and  glove,  I  will  not!”  said  Bois-Guilbert. 
“But  haste  thee,  in  the  name  of  God!” 


IVANHOE 


415 


De  Bracy  hastily  drew  his  men  together,  and 
rushed  down  to  the  postern-gate,  which  he  caused 
instantly  to  be  thrown  open.  But  scarce  was  this 
done  ere  the  portentous  strength  of  the  Black 
Knight  forced  his  way  inward  in  despite  of  De 
Bracy  and  his  followers.  Two  of  the  foremost  in¬ 
stantly  fell,  and  the  rest  gave  way  notwithstanding 
all  their  leader’s  efforts  to  stop  them. 

“Dogs!”  said  De  Bracy,  ‘will  ye  let  two  men 
win  our  only  pass  for  safety?” 

“He  is  the  devil!”  said  a  veteran  man-at-arms, 
bearing  back  from  the  blows  of  their  sable  antag¬ 
onist. 

“And  if  he  be  the  devil,”  replied  De  Bracy, 
“would  you  fly  from  him  into  the  mouth  of  hell? — 
The  castle  burns  behind  us,  villains! — let  despair 
give  you  courage,  or  let  me  forward!  I  will  cope  with 
this  champion  myself.” 

And  well  and  chivalrously  did  De  Bracy  that  day 
maintain  the  fame  he  had  acquired  in  the  civil  wars 
of  that  dreadful  period  The  vaulted  passage  to 
which  the  postern  gave  entrance,  and  in  which  these 
two  redoubted  champions  were  now  fighting  hand  to 
hand,  rung  with  the  furious  blows  which  they  dealt 
each  other,  De  Bracy  with  his  sword,  the  Black 
Knight  with  his  ponderous  ax.  At  length  the  Nor¬ 
man  received  a  blow,  which  though  its  force  was 
partly  parried  by  his  shield,  for  otherwise  never 
more  would  De  Bracy  have  again  moved  limb,  de¬ 
scended  yet  with  such  violence  on  his  crest,  that  he 
measured  his  length  on  the  paved  floor. 

“Yield  thee,  De  Bracy  ”  said  the  Black  Champion, 
stooping  over  him,  and  holding  against  the  bars  of 
his  helmet  the  fatal  poniard  with  which  the  knights 
dispatched  their  enemies,  (and  which  was  called  the 
dagger  of  mercy),  “yield  thee,  Miaurice  de  Bracy, 
rescue  or  no  rescue,  or  thou  art  but  a  dead  man,’* 


416 


Ivan  hoe 


“I  will  not  yield/’  replied  De  Bracy  faintly,  “to 
an  unknown  conqueror.  Tell  me  thy  name,  or  work 
thy  pleasure  on  me — it  shall  never  be  said  that 
Maurice  de  Bracy  was  prisoner  to  a  nameless  churl.” 

The  Black  Knight  whispered  something  into  the 
ear  of  the  vanquished. 

“I  yield  me  to  be  true  prisoner,  rescue  or  no 
rescue,”  answered  the  Norman,  exchanging  his  tone 
of  stern  and  determined  obstinacy  for  one  of  deep 
though  sullen  submission. 

“Go  to  the  barbican,”  said  the  victor,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  “and  there  wait  my  further  orders.” 

“Yet  first,  let  me  say,”  said  De  Bracy,  “what  it 
imports  thee  to  know.  Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe  is 
wounded  and  a  prisoner,  and  will  perish  in' the  burn¬ 
ing  castle  without  present  help.” 

“Wilfred  of  Ivanhoe!”  exclaimed  the  Black 
Knight — “prisoner,  and  perish! — The  life  of  every 
man  in  the  castle  shall  answer  it  if  a  hair  of  his 
head  be  singed.  Show  me  his  chamber!” 

“Ascend  yonder  winding  stair,”  said  De  Bracy; 
“it  leads  to  his  apartment. — Wilt  thou  not  accept 
my  guidance?”  he  added,  in  a  submissive  voice. 

“No.  To  the  barbican,  and  there  wait  my  orders. 
I  trust  thee  not,  De  Bracy.” 

During  this  combat  and  the  brief  conversation 
which  ensued,  Cedric,  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  men, 
among  whom  the  Friar  was  conspicuous,  had  pushed 
across  the  bridge  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  postern 
open,  and  drove  back  the  dispirited  and  despairing 
followers  of  De  Bracy,  of  whom  some  asked  quarter, 
some  offered  vain  resistance,  and  the  greater  part 
fled  towards  the  courtyard.  De  Bracy  himself  arose 
from  the  ground,  and  cast  a  sorrowful  glance  after 
his  conqueror.  “He  trusts  me  not!”  he  repeated; 
“but  have  I  deserved  his  trust?”  He  then  lifted  his 


Ivan  hoe 


417 


sword  from  the  floor,  took  off  his  helmet  in  token  of 
submission,  and,  going  to  the  barbican,  gave  up  his 
sword  to  Locksley,  whom  he  met  by  the  way. 

As  the  fire  augmented,  symptoms  of  it  became  soon 
apparent  in  the  chamber  where  Ivanhoe  was  watched 
and  tended  by  the  Jewess  Rebecca.  He  had  been 
awakened  from  his  brief  slumber  by  the  noise  of  the 
battle;  and  his  attendant,  who  had,  at  his  anxious 
desire,  again  placed  herself  at  the  window  to  watch 
and  report  to  him  the  fate  of  the  attack,  was  for  some 
time  prevented  from  observing  either,  by  the  in¬ 
crease  of  the  smoldering  and  stifling  vapor.  At 
length  the  volumes  of  smoke  which  rolled  into  the 
apartment — the  cries  for  water,  which  were  heard 
even  above  the  din  of  the  battle,  made  them  sensi¬ 
ble  of  the  progress  of  this  new  danger. 

“The  castle  burns,”  said  Rebecca;  “it  burns! — 
What  can  we  do  to  save  ourselves?” 

“Fly,  Rebecca,  and  save  thine  own  life,”  said 
Ivanhoe,  “for  no  human  aid  can  avail  me.” 

“I  will  not  fly.”  answered  Rebecca;  “we  will 
be  saved  or  perish  together. — And  yet,  great  God ! — 
my  father,  my  father — what  will  be  his  fate!” 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  apartment  flew 
open,  and  the  Templar  presented  himself, — a  ghast¬ 
ly  figure,  for  his  gilded  armor  was  broken  and 
bloody,  and  the  plume  was  partly  shorn  away,  part¬ 
ly  burnt  from  his  casque.  “I  have  found  thee, 
said  he  to  Rebecca;  “thou  shalt  prove  I  will  keep  my 
word  to  share  weal  and  woe  with  thee.  There  is 
but  one  path  to  safety;  I  have  cut  my  way  through 
fifty  dangers  to  point  it  to  thee — up,  and  instantly 
follow  me!”1 

luThe  author  has  some  idea  that  this  passage  is  imitated 
from  the  appearance  of  Philidaspes  before  the  divine  Man- 
dane,  when  the  city  of  Babylon  is  on  fire,  and  he  proposes 


418 


Ivan  hoe 


“Alone,”  answered  Rebecca,  “I  will  not  follow 
thee.  If  thou  wert  born  of  woman — if  thou  hast  bul 
a  touch  of  human  charity  in  thee — if  thy  heart  b( 
not  hard  as  thy  breastplate — save  my  aged  father- 
save  this  wounded  knight!” 

“A  knight,”  answered  the  Templar,  with  his  char¬ 
acteristic  calmness,  “a  knight,  Rebecca,  must  en¬ 
counter  his  fate,  whether  it  meet  him  in  the  shape 
of  sword  or  flame— and  who  recks  how  or  where 
a  Jew  meets  with  his?” 

“Savage  warrior,”  said  Rebecca,  “rather  will  1 
perish  in  the  flames  than  accept  safety  from  thee  I’1 

“Thou  shalt  not  choose,  Rebecca — once  didst  thou 
foil  me.  but  never  mortal  did  so  twice.” 

So  saying,  he  seized  on  the  terrified  maiden,  who 
filled  the  air  with  her  shrieks,  and  bore  her  out  of 
the  room  in  his  arms  in  spite  of  her  cries,  and  with¬ 
out  regarding  the  menaces  and  defiance  which  Ivan- 
hoe  thundered  against  him.  “Hound  of  the  Temple 
— stain  to  thine  Order — set  free  the  damsel!  Traitor 
of  Bois-Guilbert,  it  is  Ivanhoe  commands  thee! — 
Villain,  I  will  have  thy  heart’s  blood!” 

“I  had  not  found  thee,  Wilfred,”  said  the  Black 
Knight,  who  at  that  instant  entered  the  apartment, 
“but  for  thy  shouts.” 

“If  thou  be’st  true  knight,”  said  Wilfred,  “think 
not  of  me — pursue  yon  ravisher — save  the  Lady 
Rowena — look  to  the  noble  Cedric!” 

“In  their  turn,”  answered  he  of  the  fetterlock, 
“but  thine  is  first.” 

And  seizing  upon  Ivanhoe,  he  bore  him  off  with 
as  much  ease  as  the  Templar  had  carried  off  Rebec- 

to  carry  her  from  the  flames.  But  the  theft,  if  there  be 
one,  would  he  rather  too  severely  punished  by  the  penance 
of  searching  for  the  original  passage  through  the  inter¬ 
minable  volumes  of  the  Grand  Cyrus.”  (Scott’s  note). 


IVANHOE 


419 


ca,  rushed  with  him  to  the  postern,  and  having  there 
delivered  his  burden  to  the  care  of  two  yeomen,  he 
again  entered  the  castle  to  assist  in  the  rescue  of 
the  other  prisoners. 

One  turret  was  now  in  bright  flames,  which  flashed 
out  furiously  from  window  and  shot-hole.  But  in 
other  parts,  the  great  thickness  of  the  walls  and  the 
vaulted  roofs  of  the  apartments,  resisted  the  prog¬ 
ress  of  the  flames,  and  there  the  rage  of  man  still 
triumphed,  as  the  scarce  more  dreadful  element  held 
mastery  elsewhere;  for  the  besiegers  pursued  the  de¬ 
fenders  of  the  castle  from  chamber  to  chamber,  and 
satiated  in  their  blood  the  vengeance  which  had  long 
animated  them  against  the  soldiers  of  the  tyrant 
Front-de-Bceuf.  Most  of  the  garrison  resisted  to  the 
uttermost — few  of  them  asked  quarter — none  re¬ 
ceived  it.  The  air  was  filled  with  groans  and  clash¬ 
ing  of  arms — the  floors  were  slippery  with  the  blood 
of  despairing  and  expiring  wretches. 

Through  this  scene  of  confusion,  Cedric  rushed 
in  quest  of  Rowena,  while  the  faithful  Gurth,  follow¬ 
ing  him  closely  through  the  melee  neglected  his  own 
safety  while  he  strove  to  avert  the  blows  that  were 
aimed  at  his  master.  The  noble  Saxon  was  so  for¬ 
tunate  as  to  reach  his  ward’s  apartment  just  as  she 
had  abandoned  all  hope  of  safety,  and,  with  the 
crucifix  clasped  in  agony  to  her  bosom,  sat  in  ex¬ 
pectation  of  instant  death.  He  committed  her  to 
the  charge  of  Gurth,  to  be  conducted  in  safety  to  the 
barbican,  the  road  to  which  was  now  cleared  of  the 
enemy,  and  not  yet  interrupted  by  the  flames.  This 
accomplished,  the  loyal  Cedric  hastened  in  quest  of 
his  friend  Athelstane,  determined,  at  every  risk  to 
himself,  to  save  that  last  scion  of  Saxon  royalty. 
But  ere  Cedric  penetrated  as  far  as  the  old  hall  in 
which  he  had  himself  been  aprisoner,  the  inventive 


IVANHOE 


420 

genius  of  Wamba  had  procured  liberation  for  him¬ 
self  and  his  companion  in  adversity. 

When  the  noise  of  the  conflict  announced  that  it 
was  at  the  hottest,  the  Jester  began  to  shout,  with 
the  utmost  power  of  his  lungs,  “Saint  George  and  the 
dragon! — Bonny  Saint  George  for  merry  England! 

The  castle  is  won!”  And  these  sounds  he  ren¬ 
dered  yet  more  fearful,  by  banging  against  each  oth¬ 
er  two  or  three  pieces  of  rusty  armor  which  lay 
scattered  around  the  hall. 

A  guard,  which  had  been  stationed  in  the  outer, 
or  anteroom,  and  whose  spirits  were  already  in  a 
state  of  alarm,  took  fright  at  Wamba’s  clamor,  and, 
leaving  the  door  open  behind  them,  ran  to  tell  the 
Templar  that  foemen  had  entered  the  old  hall. 
Meantime  the  prisoners  found  no  difficulty  in  making 
their  escape  into  the  anteroom,  and  from  thence  into 
the  court  of  the  castle,  which  was  now  the  last  scene 
of  contest.  Here  sat  the  fierce  Templar,  mounted  on 
horseback,  surrounded  by  several  of  the  garrison 
both  on  horse  and  foot,  who  had  united  their 
strength  to  that  of  this  renowned  leader,  in  order  to 
secure  the  last  chance  of  safety  and  retreat  which 
remained  to  them.  The  drawbridge  had  been  low¬ 
ered  by  his  orders,  but  the  passage  was  beset;  for 
the  archers,  who  had  hitherto  only  annoyed  the  cas¬ 
tle  on  that  side  by  their  missiles,  no  sooner  saw  the 
flames  breaking  out,  and  the  bridge  lowered,  than 
they  thronged  to  the  entrance,  as  well  to  prevent 
the  escape  of  the  garrison,  as  to  secure  their  own 
share  of  booty  ere  the  castle  should  be  burnt  down. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  party  of  the  besiegers  who  had 
entered  by  the  postern  were  now  issuing  out  into  the 
courtyard,  and  attacking  with  fury  the  remnant  of 
the  defenders,  who  were  thus  assaulted  on  both  sides 
at  once. 

Animated,  however,  by  despair,  and  supported  by 


IVANHOE 


421 

the  example  of  their  indomitable  leader,  the  remain¬ 
ing  soldiers  of  the  castle  fought  with  the  utmost 
valor;  and,  being  well  armed,  succeeded  more  than 
ionce  in  driving  back  the  assailants,  though  much 
inferior  in  numbers.  Rebecca,  placed  on  horseback 
before  one  of  the  Templar's  Saracen  slaves,  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  little  party;  and  Bois-Guilbert,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  confusion  of  the  bloody  fray, 
showed  every  attention  to  her  safety.  Repeatedly  he 
was  by  her  side,  and,  neglecting  his  own  defense,  held 
before  her  the  fence  of  his  triangular  steel-plated 
shield;  and  anon  starting  from  his  position  by  her, 
he  cried  his  war-cry,  dashed  forward,  struck  to 
;  earth  the  most  forward  of  the  assailants,  and  was 
s  on  the  same  instant  once  more  at  her  bridle  rein. 

Athelstane,  who,  as  the  reader  knows,  was  sloth¬ 
ful,  but  not  cowardly,  beheld  the  female  form  whom 
the  Templar  protected  thus  sedulously,  and  doubted 
not  that  it  was  Rowena  whom  the  knight  was  carry¬ 
ing  off,  in  despite  of  all  resistance  which  could  be 
offered. 

“By  the  soul  of  Saint  Edward,"  he  said,  “I  will 
rescue  her  from  yonder  over-proud  knight,  and  he 
shall  die  by  my  hand!" 

“Think  what  you  do!"  cried  Wamba;  “hasty  hand 
!  catches  frog  for  fish — by  my  bauble,1  yonder  is  none 
1  of  my  Lady  Rowena — see  but  her  long  dark  locks! — 
Nay,  an  ye  will  not  know  black  from  white,  ye  may 
j  be  leader,  but  I  will  be  no  follower — no  bones  of 
mine  shall  be  broken  unless  I  know  for  whom.— 
And  you  without  armor  too ! — Bethink  you,  silk  bon¬ 
net  never  kept  out  steel  blade. — Nay,  then,  if  will¬ 
ful  will  to  water,  willful  must  drench. — Deus  vobis- 
cum,  most  doughty  Athelstane!" — he  concluded, 

, 

wand  symbolic  of  bis  position  was  carried  by  the 

Jester. 


422 


IVANHOE 


loosening  the  hold  which  he  had  hitherto  kept  upon 
the  Saxon’s  tunic. 

To  snatch  a  mace  from  the  pavement,  on  which 
it  lay  beside  one  whose  dying  grasp  had  just  relin¬ 
quished  it — to  rush  on  the  Templar’s  band,  and  to 
strike  in  quick  succession  to  the  right  and  left,  lev¬ 
eling  a  warrior  at  each  blow,  was,  for  Athelstane’s 
great  strength,  now  animated  with  unusual  fury,  but 
the  work  of  but  a  single  moment;  he  was  soon  with¬ 
in  two  yards  of  Bois-Guilbert,  whom  he  defied  in  his 
loudest  tone. 

“Turn,  false-hearted  Templar!  let  go  her  whom 
thou  art  unworthy  to  touch — turn,  limb  of  a  band 
of  murdering  and  hypocritical  robbers!” 

“Dog!”  said  the  Templar,  grinding  his  teeth,  “I 
will  teach  thee  to  blaspheme  the  holy  Order  of  the 
Temple  of  Zion;”  and  with  these  words,  half¬ 
wheeling  his  steed,  he  made  a  demi-courbette  to¬ 
wards  the  Saxon,  and  rising  in  the  stirrups,  so  as 
to  take  full  advantage  of  the  descent  of  the  horse, 
he  discharged  a  fearful  blow  upon  the  head  of  Athel- 
stane. 

“Well,”  said  Wamba,  “that  silken  bonnet  keeps 
out  no  steel  blade.”  So  trenchant  was  the  Templar’s 
weapon,  that  it  shore  asunder,  as  it  had  been  a  wil¬ 
low  twig,  the  tough  and  plaited  handle  of  the  mace, 
which  the  ill-fated  Saxon  reared  to  parry  the  blow, 
and,  descending  on  his  head,  leveled  him  with  the 
earth. 

“Ha!  Beau-seant!”  exclaimed  B'ois-Guilbert,  “thus 
be  it  to  the  maligners  of  the  Temple-knights!”  Tak¬ 
ing  advantage  of  the  dismay  which  was  spread  by 
the  fall  of  Athelstane,  and  calling  aloud,  “Those  who 
would  save  themselves,  follow  me!”  he  pushed  across 
the  drawbridge,  dispersing  the  archers  who  would 
have  intercepted  them.  He  was  followed  by  his  Sar¬ 
acens,  and  some  five  or  six  men-at-arms,  who  had 


IVANHOE 


423 


nounted  their  horses.  The  Templar’s  retreat  was 
rendered  perilous  by  the  number  of  arrows  shot  off 
at  him  and  his  party;  but  this  did  not  prevent  him 
from  galloping  round  to  the  barbican,  of  which,  ac¬ 
cording  to  his  previous  plan,  he  supposed  it  pos¬ 
sible  De  Bracy  might  have  been  in  possession. 

“De  Bracy!  De  Bracy!”  he  shouted,  “art  thou 
there  ?” 

“I  am  here,”  replied  De  Bracy.  “but  I  am  a  pns- 

oner.” 

“Can  I  rescue  thee?”  cried  Bois-Guilbert. 

“No,”  replied  De  Bracy;  “I  have  rendered  me,  res¬ 
cue  or  no  rescue.  I  will  be  true  prisoner.  Save 
thyself— there  are  hawks  abroad— put  the  seas  be¬ 
twixt  you  and  England — I  dare  not  say  more. 

“Well,”  answered  the  Templar,  “an  thou  wilt 
tarry  there,  remember  I  have  redeemed  word  and 
glove.  Be  the  hawks  where  they  will,  methinks  the 
walls  of  the  Preceptory  of  Templestowe  will  be  cover 
sufficient,  and  thither  will  I,  like  heron  to  her 
haunt.” 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  galloped  off  with  his  fol¬ 


lowers. 

Those  of  the  castle,  who  had  not  gotten  to  horse, 
still  continued  to  fight  desperately  with  the  besieg¬ 
ers  after  the  departure  of  the  Templar,  bpt  rather 
in  despair  of  quarter  than  that  they  entertained  any 
hope  of  escape.  The  fire  was  spreading  rapidly 
through  all  parts  of  the  castle,  when  Ulrica,,  who  had 
first  kindled  it,  appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise  of 
one  of  the  ancient  furies,  yelling  forth  a  war-song, 
such  as  was  of  yore  raised  on  the  field  of  battle  by 
the  scalds  of  the  yet  heathen  Saxons.  Her  long  dis¬ 
heveled  gray  hair  flew  back  from  her  uncovered 
head;  the  inebriating  delight  of  gratified  vengeance 
contended  in  her  eyes  with  the  fire  of  insanity  ;  and 
she  brandished  the  distaff  which  she  held  in  her 


424 


I  VAN  HOE 


hand,  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the  Fatal  Sisters 
who  spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of  human  life.  Tra¬ 
dition  has  preserved  some  wild  strophes  of  the  bar¬ 
barous  hymn1  which  she  chanted  wildly  amid  that 
scene  of  fire  and  slaughter: — 

l 


Whet  the  bright  steel. 

Sons  of  the  White  Dragon ! 

Kindle  the  torch, 

Daughter  of  Hengist! 

The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the  banquet. 

It  is  hard,  broad,  and  sharply  pointed; 

The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 

It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 

Whet  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks! 

Light  the  torch,  Zernebock  is  yelling! 

Whet  the  steel,  sons  of  the  Dragon! 

Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist ! 

2 

The  black  cloud  is  low  over  the  thane's  castle ; 

The  eagle  screams — he  rides  on  its  bosom. 

Scream  not,  gray  rider  of  the  sable  cloud, 

Thy  banquet  is  prepared ! 

The  maidens  of  Valhalla  look  fortlp 

u‘It  will  readily  occur  to  the  antiquary  that  these  ver¬ 
ses  are  intended  to  imitate  the  antique  poetry  of  Scalds— 
the  minstrels  of  the  Scandinavians — the  race  as  the 
Laureate  so  happily  terms  them. 

‘Stern  to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to  endure, 

Who  smiled  in  death.’ 

The  poety  of  Anglo-Saxon  after  their  civilization  and  con¬ 
version,  was  of  different  and  softer  character;  but  in  the 
circumstances  of  Ulrica,  she  may  be  not  unnaturally  sup¬ 
posed  to  return  to  the  wild  strains  which  animated  her 
forefathers  during  the  time  of  Paganism  and  untamed  fero¬ 
city."  (Scott’i  note). 


IVANHOE 


425 


fhe  race  of  Hengist  will  send  them  guests, 
khake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Valhalla! 

And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy ! 

Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 

Vlany  a  helmed  head. 

3 

Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane’s  castle, 

The  black  clouds  gather  round; 

Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  valiant ! 

The  destroyer  of  the  forests  shall  shake  his  red  crest 
against  them. 

He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 

Broad  waves  he  his  blazing  banner, 

Red,  wThite  and  dusky, 

Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant: 

His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broken  bucklers; 
He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts  warm  from 
the  wound ! 

4 

* 

All  must  perish ! 

The  sword  cleaveth  the  helmet ; 

The  strong  armor  is  pierced  by  the  lance; 

Fire  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes, 
Engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 

All  must  perish! 

The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone— 

The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more : 

Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  the  sword. 

Let  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine ; 

Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter, 

By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls! 

Strong  be  your  swords  while  your  blood  is  warm, 
And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear. 

For  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour ; 

Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire! 

I  also  must  perish ! 


The  towering  flames  had  now  surmounted  every 


426 


IVANHOE 


obstruction,  and  rose  to  the  evening  skies  one  huge 
and  burning  beacon,  seen  far  and  wide  through  the 
adjacent  country.  Tower  after  tower  crashed  down, 
with  blazing  roof  and  rafter;  and  the  combatants 
were  driven  from  the  courtyard.  The  vanquished, 
of  whom  very  few  remained,  scattered  and  escaped 
into  the  neighboring  wood.  The  victors,  assembling 
in  large  bands,  gazed  with  wonder,  not  unmixed 
with  fear,  upon  the  flames,  in  which  their  own  ranks 
and  arms  glanced  dusky  red.  The  maniac  figure  of 
the  Saxon  Ulrica  was  for  a  long  time  visible  on  the 
lofty  stand  she  had  chosen,  tossing  her  arms  abroad 
with  wild  exultation,  as  if  she  reigned  empress  of  the 
conflagration  which  she  had  raised.  At  length,  with 
a  terrific  crash,  the  whole  turret  gave  way,  and  she 
perished  in  the  flames  which  had  consumed  her  ty¬ 
rant.  An  awful  pause  of  horror  silenced  each  mur¬ 
mur  of  the  armed  spectators,  who,  for  the  space  of 
several^  minutes,  stirred  not  a  finger,  save  to  sign 
the  cross.  The  voice  of  Locksley  was  then  heard, 
“Shout,  yeomen! — the  den  of  tyrants  is  no  morel 
Let  each  bring  his  spoil  to  our  chosen  place  of 
rendezvous  at  the  Trysting-tree  in  the  Harthill  Walk; 
for  there  at  break  of  day  will  we  make  just  partition 
among  our  own  bands,  together  with  our  worthy 
allies  in  this  great  deed  of  vengeance/’ 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


Trust  me  each  state  must  have  its  policies: 
Kingdoms  have  edicts,  cities  have  their  charters : 
Even  the  wild  outlaw,  in  his  forest-walk, 

Keeps  yet  some  touch  of  civil  discipline; 

For  not  since  Adam  wore  his  verdant  apron, 

Hath  man  with  man  in  social  union  dwelt, 

But  laws  were  made  to  draw  that  union  closer. 

Old  Play. 


The  daylight  had  dawned  upon  the  glades  of  the 
oak  forest.  The  green  boughs  glittered  with  all  their 
pearls  of  dew.  The  hind  led  her  fawn  from  the  co¬ 
vert  of  high  fern  to  the  more  open  walks  of  the 
green-wood,  and  no  huntsman  was  there  to  watch  or 
intercept  the  stately  hart,  as  he  paced  at  the  head 
of  the  antlered  herd. 

The  outlaws  were  all  assembled  around  the  Tryst- 
ing-tree  in  the  Harthill  Walk,  where  they  had  spent 
the  night  in  refreshing  themselves  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  siege,  some  with  wine,  some  with  slumber, 
many  with  hearing  and  recounting  the  events  of  fh 
day,  and  computing  the  heaps  of  plunder  which  their 
success  had  placed  at  the  disposal  of  their  Chief. 

The  spoils  were  indeed  very  large;  for,  notwith¬ 
standing  that  much  was  consumed,  a  great  deal  of 
plate,  rich  armor,  and  splendid  clothing,  had  been 
secured  by  the  exertions  of  the  dauntleis  outlaws, 
who  could  be  appalled  by  no  danger  when  such  re¬ 
wards  were  in  view.  Yet  so  strict  were  the  laws  of 
their  society,  that  no  one  ventured  to  appropriate 
any  part  of  the  booty,  which  was  brought  into  one 
common  mass,  to  be  at  the  disposal  of  their  leader. 


Question  : 
Question  : 

a  climax? 


How  did  Ulrica  perish? 

Of  what  part  of  the  story  is  this  past  chapter 


428 


IVANHOE 


The  place  of  rendezvous  was  an  aged  oak;  not 
however  the  same  to  which  Locksley  had  conducted 
Gurth  and  Wamba  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  story, 
but  one  which  was  the  center  of  a  silvan  amphi¬ 
theater,  within  half  a  mile  of  the  demolisned  castle 
of  Torquilstone.  Here  Locksley  assumed  his  seat — a 
throne  of  turf  erected  under  the  twisted  branches  or 
the  huge  oak,  and  the  silvan  followers  were  gathered 
around  him.  He  assigned  to  the  Black  Knight  a 
seat  at  his  right  hand,  and  to  Cedric  a  place  upon 
his  left. 

“Pardon  my  freedom,  noble  sirs,”  he  said,  “but 
in  these  glades  I  am  monarch— they  are  my  king¬ 
dom,  and  these  my  wild  subjects  would  reck  but  lit¬ 
tle  of  my  power,  were  I,  within  my  own  dominions, 
to  yield  place  to  mortal  man.— Now,  sirs,  who  hath 
seen  our  chaplain?  where  is  our  curtal  Friar?  A 
mass  amongst  Christian  men  best  begins  a  busy 
morning.  No  one  had  seen  the  Clerk  of  Copma11  • 
hurst.  “Over  God’s  forbode!”  said  the  outlaw  chief, 

“I  trust  the  jolly  priest  hath  but  abidden  by  the 
winepot  a  thought  too  late.  Who  saw  him  since  the 
castle  was  ta’en?” 

I,  quoth  the  Miller,  “marked  him  busy  about 
the  door  of  a  cellar,  swearing  by  each  saint  in  the 
calendar  he  would  taste  the  smack  or  Front-de 
Bceuf’s  Gascoigne  wine.” 

“Now,  the  saints,  as  many  as  there  be  of  them,” 
said  the  Captain,  “forefend,  lest  he  has  drunk  too 
deep  of  the  wine-butts,  and  perished  by  the  fall  of 
the  castle !— Away,  Miller!— take  with  you  enow  of 
men,  seek  the  place  where  you  last  saw  him— throw 
water  from  the  moat  on  the  scorching  ruins — I  will 
have  them  removed  stone  by  stone  ere  I  lose  mv  cur¬ 
tal  Friar.” 

The  numbers  who  hastened  to  execute  this  duty. 


IVANHOE 


429 


considering  that  an  interesting  division  of  spoil  was 
about  to  take  place,  showed  how  much  the  troop  had 
at  heart  the  safety  of  their  spiritual  father. 

“Meanwhile,  let  us  proceed,”  said  Locksley;  “for 
when  this  bold  deed  shall  be  sounded  abroad,  the 
bands  of  De  Bracy,  of  Malvoisin,  and  other  allies  of 
Front-de-Bceuf,  will  be  in  motion  against  us  and  it 
were  well  for  our  safety  that  we  retreat  from  the 
vicinity— Noble  Cedric,”  he  said,  turning  to  the 
Saxon,  “that  spoil  is  divided  into  two  portions;  do 
thou  make  choice  of  that  which  best  suits  thee,  to 
recompense  thy  people  who  were  partakers  with  us 
in  this  adventure.” 

“Good  yeoman,”  said  Cedric,  “my  heart  is  op¬ 
pressed  with  sadness.  The  noble  Athelstane  of  Con- 
ingsburgh  is  no  more — the  last  sprout  of  the  sainted 
I  Confessor!  Hopes  have  perished  with  him  which 
can  never  return! — A  sparkle  hath  been  quenched 
by  his  blood,  which  no  human  breath  can  again  re- 
|  kindle!  My  people,  save  the  few  who  are  now  with 
me,  do  but  tarry  my  presence  to  transport  his  hon¬ 
ored  remains  to  their  last  mansion.  The  Lady  Kow- 
ena  is  desirous  to  return  to  Rotherhood,  and  must 
be  escorted  by  a  sufficient  force.  I  should,  therefore, 
ere  now,  have  left  this  place;  and  I  waited — not  to 
share  the  booty,  for,  so  help  me  God  and  Saint 
Withold !  as  neither  I  nor  any  of  mine  will  touch  the 
value  of  a  liard, — I  waited  but  to  render  my  thanks 
to  thee  and  to  thy  bold  yeomen,  for  the  life  and  honor 
ye  have  saved.” 

“Nay,  but,”  said  the  chief  Outlaw,  “we  did  but 
half  the  work  at  most — take  of  the  spoil  what  may 
reward  your  own  neighbors  and  followers.” 

“I  am  rich  enough  to  reward  them  from  mine  own 
wealth,”  answered  Cedric. 

“And  some,”  said  Wamba,  “have  been  wise  enough 
to  reward  themselves ;  they  do  not  march  off  empty- 


430 


Ivan  hoe 


handed  altogether.  We  do  not  all  wear  motley.” 

“They  are  welcome/’  said  Locksley;  “our  laws 
bind  none  but  ourselves.” 

“But,  thou,  my  poor  knave,”  said  Cedric,  turning 
about  and  embracing  his  Jester,  “how  shall  I  reward 
thee,  who  feared  not  to  give  thy  body  to  chains  and 
death  instead  of  mine! — All  forsook  me,  when  the 
poor  fool  was  faithful!” 

A  tear  stood  in  the  eye  of  the  rough  Thane  as  he 
spoke — a  mark  of  feeling  which  even  the  death  of 
Athelstane  had  not  extracted ;  but  there  was  some¬ 
thing  in  the  half-instinctive  attachment  of  his  clown, 
that  waked  his  nature  more  keenly  than  even  grief 
itself. 

“Nay,”  said  the  Jester,  extricating  himself  from 
his  master’s  caress,  “if  you  pay  my  service  with  the 
water  of  your  eye,  the  Jester  must  weep  for  com¬ 
pany,  and  then  what  becomes  of  his  vocation? — 
But,  uncle,  if  you  would  indeed  pleasure  me,  I 
pray  you  to  pardon  my  playfellow  Gurth,  who  stole 
a  week  from  your  service  to  bestow  it  on  your  son.” 

“Pardon  him!”  exclaimed  Cedric;  “I  will  both 
pardon  and  reward  him.— Kneel  down,  Gurth.”— 
The  swineherd  was  in  an  instant  at  his  master’s 
feet — “Theow  and  Esne1  art  thou  no  longer,”  said 
Cedric,  touching  him  with  a  wand;  “Folkfree2  and 
Sacless  art  thou  in  town  and  from  town,  in  the 
forest  as  in  the  field.  A  hide  of  land  I  give  to  thee 
in  my  steads  of  Walbrugham,  from  me  and  mine  to 
thee  and  thine  aye  and  for  ever;  and  God’s  malison 
on  his  head  who  this  gainsays!” 

No  longer  a  serf,  but  a  freeman  and  a  landholder, 
Gurth  sprung  upon  his  feet,  and  twice  bounded  aloft 
to  almost  his  own  height  from  the  ground. 


3“Thrall  and  bondsmen.”  Scott, 
2<<A  lawful  freeman.”  Scott. 


IVANHOE 


431 


“A  smith  and  a  file,”  he  cried,  “to  do  away  the 
collar  from  the  neck  of  a  freeman! — noble  master! 
doubled  is  my  strength  by  your  gift,  and  doubly  will 
I  fight  for  you! — There  is  a  free  spirit  in  my  breast 
— I  am  a  man  changed  to  myself  and  all  around. — 
Ha,  Fangs!”  he  continued, — for  that  faithful  cur, 
seeing  his  master  thus  transported,  began  to  jump 
upon  him,  to  express  his  sympathy, — “knowest  thou 
thy  master  still?” 

“Ay,”  said  Wamba,  “Fangs  and  I  still  know  thee, 
Gurth,  though  we  must  needs  abide  by  the  collar; 
it  is  only  thou  art  likely  to  forget  both  us  and  thy¬ 
self.” 

“I  shall  forget  myself  indeed  ere  I  forget  thee, 
true  comrade,”  said  Gurth;  “and  were  freedom  fit 
for  thee,  Wamba,  the  master  would  not  let  thee 
want  it.” 

“Nay,”  said  Wamba,  “never  think  I  envy  thee, 
brother  Gurth;  the  serf  sits  by  the  hall-fire  when 
the  freeman  must  forth  to  the  field  of  battle.  And 
what  with  Oldhelm1  of  Malmsbury. — Better  a  fool  at 
a  feast  than  a  wise  man  at  a  fray.” 

The  tramp  of  horses  was  now  heard,  and  the  Lady 
Rowena  appeared,  surrounded  by  several  riders,  and 
a  much  stronger  party  of  footmen,  who  joyfully 
shook  their  pikes  and  clashed  their  brown-bills  for 
joy  of  her  freedom.  She  herself,  richly  attired,  and 
mounted  on  a  dark  chestnut  palfrey,  had  recovered 
all  the  dignity  of  her  manner,  and  only  an  unwonted 
degree  of  paleness  showed  the  sufferings  she  had  un¬ 
dergone.  Her  lovely  brow,  though  sorrowful,  bore 
on  it  a  cast  of  reviving  hope  for  the  future,  as  well 
as  of  grateful  thankfulness  for  the  past  deliverance. 
She  knew  that  Ivanhoe  was  safe,  and  she  knew  that 
Athlestane  was  dead.  The  former  assurance  filled 


*A  monk  and  a  scholar  of  the  seventh  century. 


432 


IVANHOE 


her  with  the  most  sincere  delight;  and  if  she  did  not 
absolutely  rejoice  at  the  latter,  she  might  be  par¬ 
doned  for  feeling  the  full  advantage  of  being  freed 
from  further  persecution  on  the  only  subject  in 
which  she  had  ever  been  contradicted  by  her  guard¬ 
ian  Cedric. 

As  Rowena  bent  her  steed  towards  Locksley’ s  seat, 
that  bold  yeoman,  with  all  his  followers,  rose  to  re¬ 
ceive  her,  as  if  by  a  general  instinct  of  courtesy. 
The  blood  rose  to  her  cheeks,  as,  courteously  waving 
her  hand,  and  bending  so  low  that  her  beautiful  and 
loose  tresses  were  for  an  instant  mixed  with  the 
flowing  mane  of  her  palfrey,  she  expressed  in  few 
but  apt  words  her  obligations  and  her  gratitude  to 
Locksley  and  her  other  deliverers. — “God  bless  you, 
brave  men,”  she  concluded,  “God  and  Our  Lady  bless 
you  and  requite  you  for  gallantry  periling  your¬ 
selves  in  the  cause  of  the  oppressed! — If  any  of  you 
should  hunger,  remember  Rowena  has  food — if  you 
should  thirst,  she  has  many  a  butt  of  wine  and 
brown  ale — and  if  the  Normans  drive  ye  from  these 
walks,  Rowena  has  forests  of  her  own,  where  her 
gallant  deliverers  may  range  at  full  freedom,  and 
never  ranger  ask  whose  arrow  hath  struck  down 
the  deer.” 

“Thanks,  gentle  lady,”  said  Locksley;  “thanks 
from  my  company  and  myself.  But,  to  have  saved 
you  requites  itself.  We  who  walk  the  greenwood  do 
many  a  wild  deed,  and  the  Lady  Rowena’s  deliver¬ 
ance  may  be  received  as  an  atonement.” 

Again  bowing  from  her  palfrey,  Rowena  turned  to 
depart;  but  pausing  a  moment,  while  Cedric,  who 
was  to  attend  her,  was  also  taking  his  leave,  she 
found  herself  unexpectedly  close  by  the  prisoner 
De  Bracy.  He  stood  under  a  tree  in  deep  medita¬ 
tion,  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast,  and  Rowena 
was  in  hopes  she  might  pass  him  unobserved.  He 


IVANHOE 


433 


j  looked  up,  however,  and,  when  aware  of  her  pres¬ 
ence,  a  deep  hush  of  shame  suffused  his  handsome 
countenance.  He  stood  a  moment  most  irresolute; 
then,  stepping  forward,  took  her  palfrey  by  the  rein, 
and  bent  his  knee  before  her. 

“Will  the  Lady  Rowena  deign  to  cast  an  eye  on 
a  captive  knight — on  a  dishonored  soldier?” 

“Sir  Knight,”  answered  Rowena,  “in  enterprises 
I  such  as  yours,  the  real  dishonor  lies  not  in  failure, 
but  in  success.” 

“Conquest,  lady,  should  soften  the  heart,”  an¬ 
swered  De  Bracy;  “let  me  but  know  that  the  Lady 
Rowena  forgives  the  violence  occasioned  by  an  ill- 
fated  passion,  and  she  will  .soon  learn  that  De  Bracy 
knows  how  to  serve  her  in  nobler  ways.” 

“I  forgive  you,  Sir  Knight,”  said  Rowena,  “as 
;  a  Christian.”  * 

“That  means,”  said  Wamba,  “that  she  does  not 
;  forgive  him  at  all.” 

“But  I  can  never  forgive  the  misery  and  desola¬ 
tion  your  madness  has  occasioned,”  continued 
Rowena. 

“Unloose  your  hold  on  the  lady’s  rein,”  said 
Cedric  coming  up.  “By  the  bright  sun  above  us, 
but  it  were  shame  I  would  pin  thee  to  the  earth  with 
my  javelin — but  be  you  assured  thou  shalt  smart, 
Maurice  De  Bracy,  for  thy  share  in  this  foul  deed.” 

“He  threatens  safely  who  threatens  a  prisoner,” 
said  De  Bracy;  “but  when  had  a  Saxon  any  touch 
of  courtesy?” 

Then  retiring  two  steps  backward,  he  permitted 
the  lady  to  move  on. 

Cedric  ere  they  departed,  expressed  his  peculiar 
gratitude  to  the  Black  Champion,  and  earnestly  en¬ 
treated  him  to  accompany  him  to  Rotherwood. 

“I  know,”  *he  said,  “that  ye  arrant  knights  de¬ 
sire  to  carry  your  fortunes  on  the  point  of  your 


434 


Ivan  hoe 


lance,  and  reck  not  of  land  or  goods;  but  war  is  a 
changeful  mistress,  and  a  home  is  sometimes  desir¬ 
able  even  to  the  champion  whose  trade  is  wandering. 
Thou  hast  earned  one  in  the  halls  of  Rotherwood, 
noble  knight.  Cedric  has  wealth  enough  to  repair 
the  injuries  of  fortune,  and  all  he  has  is  his  deliv¬ 
erer’s.  Come,  therefore,  to  Rotherwood,  not  as  a 
guest,  but  as  a  son  or  brother.” 

“Cedric  has  already  made  me  rich,”  said  the 
Knight, — “he  has  taught  me  the  value  of  Saxon 
virtue.  To  Rotherwood  will  I  come,  brave  Saxon, 
and  that  speedily;  but,  as  now,  pressing  matters  of 
moment  detain  me  from  your  halls.  Peradventure 
when  I  come  hither,  I  will  ask  such  a  boon  as  will 
put  even  thy  generosity  to  the  test.” 

“It  is  granted  ere  spoken  out,”  said  Cedric,  strik¬ 
ing  his  ready  hand^into  the  gauntleted  palm  of  the 
Black  Knight, — “It  is  granted  already,  were  it  to 
affect  half  my  fortune.” 

^  “Gage  not  thy  promise  so  lightly,”  and  the 
Knight  of  the  Fetterlock;  “yet  well  I  hope  to  gain 
the  boon  I  shall  ask.  Meanwhile,  adieu.” 

“I  have  but  to  say,”  added  the  Saxon,  “that,  dur¬ 
ing  the  funeral  rites  of  the  noble  Athelstane,  I  shall 
be  an  inhabitant  of  the  halls  of  his  castle  of  Conings- 
burgh.  They  will  be  open  to  all  who  choose  to  par¬ 
take  of  the  funeral  banqueting;  and,  I  speak  in  name 
of  the  noble  Edith,  mother  of  the  fallen  prince,  they 
will  ever  be  shut  against  him  who  labored  so  bravely, 
though  unsuccessfully,  to  save  Athelstane  from  Nor¬ 
man  chains  and  Norman  steel.” 

“Ay,  ay,”  said  Wamba,  who  had  resumed  his  at¬ 
tendance  on  his  master,  “rare  feeding  there  will  be 
— pity  that  the  noble  Athelstane  cannot  banquet  at 
his  own  funeral. — But  he,”  continued  the  Jester,  lift- 
ig  up  his  eyes  gravely,  “is  supping  in  Paradise, 
and  doubtless  does  honor  to  the  cheer.” 


IVANHOE 


435 


“Peace,  and  move  on,”  said  Cedric,  his  anger  at 
this  untimely  jest  being  checked  by  the  recollection 
of  Wamba’s  recent  services.  Rowena  waved  a  grace¬ 
ful  adieu  to  him  of  the  Fetterlock— the  Saxon  bade 
God  speed  him,  and  on  they  moved  through  a  wide 
glade  of  the  forest. 

They  had  scarcely  departed,  ere  a  sudden  proces¬ 
sion  moved  from  under  the  greenwood  branches, 
swept  slowly  round  the  silvan  ampitheater,  and  took 
the  same  direction  with  Rowena  and  her  followers. 
The  priests  of  a  neighboring  convent,  in  expectation 
of  the  ample  donation,  or  soul-scat /  which  Cedric 
had  propined,  attended  upon  the  car  in  which  the 
body  of  Athelstane  was  laid,  and  sang  hymns  as  it 
was  sadly  and  slowly  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
vassals  to  his  castle  of  Coningsburgh,  to  be  there 
deposited  in  the  grave  of  Hengist.,  from  whom  the 
deceased  derived  his  long  descent.  Many  of  his 
vassals  had  assembled  at  the  news  of  his  death,  and 
followed  the  bier  with  all  the  external  marks,  at 
least,  of  dejection  and  sorrow.  Again  the  outlaws 
arose,  and  paid  the  same  rude  and  spontaneous 
homage  to  death,  which  they  had  so  lately  rendered 
to  beauty— the  slow  chant  and  mournful  step  of  the 
priests  brought  back  to  tfheir  remembrances  such  of 
their  comrades  as  had  fallen  m  the  yesterday  s 
affray.  But  such  recollections  dwell  not  long  with 
those  who  lead  a  life  of  danger  and  enterprise,  and 
ere  the  sound  of  the  death-hymn  had  died  on  the 
wind,  the  outlaws  were  again  busied  m  the  distribu¬ 
tion  of  their  spoil. 

“Valiant  knight,”  said  Locksley  to  the  Black 
Champion,  “without  whose  good  heart  and  mighty 
arm  our  enterprise  must  altogether  have  failed,  will 
it  please  you  to  take  from  that  mass  of  spoil  what- 

tax  paid  to  the  church  wherein  the  deceased  was  held. 


436 


IVANHOE 


ever  may  best  serve  to  pleasure  you,  and  to  remind 
you  of  this  my  Trysting-tree?” 

“I  accept  the  offer,”  said  the  Knight,  “as  frankly 
as  it  is  given;  and  I  ask  permission  to  dispose  of  Sir 
Maurice  de  Bracy  at  my  own  pleasure.” 

“He  is  thine  already,”  said  Locksley,  “and  well 
for  him !  else  the  tyrant  had  graced  the  highest  bough 
of  this  oak,  with  as  many  of  his  Free  Companions 
as  we  could  gather,  hanging  thick  as  acorns  around 
him. — But  he  is  thy  prisoner,  and  he  is  safe,  though 
he  had  slain  my  father.” 

“De  Bracy,”  said  the  Knight,  “thou  art  free — 
depart.  He  whose  prisoner  thou  art  scorns  to  take 
mean  revenge  for  what  is  past.  But  beware  of  the 
future,  lest  a  worse  thing  befall  thee.— Maurice  de 
Bracy,  I  say  beware!” 

De  Bracy  bent  low  and  in  silence,  and  was  about 
to  withdraw,  when  the  yeomen  burst  at  once  into  a 
shout  of  execration  and  derision.  The  proud  knight 
instantly  stopped,  turned  back,  folded  his  arms,  drew 
up  his  form  to  its  full  height,  and  exclaimed,  “Peace, 
ye  yelping  curs!  who  open  upon  a  cry  which  ye 
followed  not  when  the  stag  was  at  bay — De  Bracy 
scorns  your  censure  as  he  would  disdain  your  ap¬ 
plause.  To  your  brakes  and  caves,  ye  outlawed 
thieves!  and  be  silent  when  aught  knightly  or 
noble  is  but  spoken  within  a  league  of  your  fox- 
earths.” 

This  ill-timed  defiance  might  have  procured  for 
De  Bracy  a  volley  of  arrows,  but  for  the  hasty  and 
imperative  interference  of  the  outlaw  Chief.  Mean¬ 
while  the  knight  caught  a  horse  by  the  rein  for  sev¬ 
eral  which  had  been  taken  in  the  stables  of  Front-de- 
Boeuf  stood  accoutered  around,  and  were  a  valuable 
part  of  the  booty.  He  threw  himself  upon  the 


Question:  Why  was  De  Bracy  set  free? 


IVANHOE 


437 


saddle,  and  galloped  off  through  the  wood. 

When  the  bustle  occasioned  by  this  incident  was 
somewhat  composed,  the  chief  Outlaw  took  from  his 
neck  the  rich  horn  and  baldric  which  he  had  re¬ 
cently  gained  at  the  strife  of  archery  near  Ashby. 

“Noble  knight,”  he  said  to  him  of  the  Fetterlock,' 
“if  you  disdain  not  to  grace  by  your  acceptance  a 
bugle  which  an  English  yeoman  has  once  worn,  this 
I  will  pray  you  to  keep  as  a  memorial  of  your  gallant 
bearing — and  if  ye  have  aught  to  do,  and,  as  happen- 
eth  oft  to  a  gallant  knight,  ye  change  to  be  hard 
bested  in  any  forest  between  Trent  and  Tees1,  wind 
three  mots2  upon  the  horn  thus,  Wa-sa-hoa!  and  it 
may  well  chance  ye  shall  find  helpers  and  rescue.” 

-die  then  gave  breath  to  the  bugle,  and  winded  once 
and  again  the  call  which  he  described,  until  the 
knight  had  caught  the  notes. 

“Gramercy  for  the  gift,  bold  yeoman,”  said  the 
Knight;  “and  better  help  than  thine  and  thy 
rangers’  would  I  never  seek,  were  it  at  my  utmost 
need.”  And  then  in  his  turn  he  winded  the  call 
till  all  the  greenwood  rang. 

“Well  blown  and  clearly,”  said  the  yeoman;  “be- 
shrew  me  an  thou  knowest  not  as  much  of  wood¬ 
craft  as  of  war! — thou  hast  been  a  striker  of  deer  in 
thy  day,  I  warrant. — Comrades,  mark  these  three 
mots — it  is  the  call  of  the  Knight  of  the  Fetterlock; 
and  he  who  hears  it,  and  hastens  not  to  serve  him 
at  his  need,  I  will  have  him  scourged  out  of  our 
band  with  his  own  bowstring.” 

“Long  live  our  leader!”  shouted  the  yeomen, 

*The  Trent  flows  through  Central  England;  the  Tees  in 
the  northern  boundary  of  Yorkshire. 

2“The  notes  upon  the  bugle  were  anciently  called  mots, 
and  are  distinguished  in  the  old  treatises  on  hunting,  not 
by  musical  characters,  but  by  written  words/’ — 'Scott. 


438 


Ivan  hoe 


‘‘and  long  live  the  Black  Knight  of  the  Fetterlock! 
— May  he  soon  use  our  service,  to  prove  how  readily 
it  will  be  paid.” 

Locksley  now  proceeded  to  the  distribution  of  the 
spoil,  which  he  performed  with  the  most  laudable  im¬ 
partiality.  A  tenth  part  of  the  whole  was  set  apart 
for  the  church,  and  for  pious  uses;  a  portion  was 
next  allotted  to  a  sort  of  public  treasury;  a  part  was 
assigned  to  the  widows  and  children  of  those  who 
had  fallen,  or  to  be  expended  in  masses  for  the  souls 
of  such  as  had  left  no  surviving  family.  The  rest 
was  divided  amongst  the  outlaws,  according  to  their 
rank  and  merit;  and  the  judgment  of  the  Chief,  on 
all  such  doubtful  questions  as  occurred,  was  deliv¬ 
ered  with  great  shrewdness,  and  received  with  abso¬ 
lute  submission.  The  Black  Knight  was  not  a  little 
surprised  to  find  that  men  in  a  state  so  lawless,  were 
nevertheless  among  themselves  so  regularly  and 
equitable  governed,  and  all  that  he  observed  added 
to  his  opinion  of  the  justice  and  judgment  of  their 
leader. 

When  each  had  taken  his  own  proportion  of  the 
booty,  and  while  the  treasurer,  accompanied  by  four 
tall  yeomen,  was  transporting  that  belonging  to  the 
state  to  some  place  of  concealment  or  of  security, 
the  portion  devoted  to  the  church  still  remained  un¬ 
appropriated. 

“I  would,”  said  the  leader,  ‘‘we  could  hear 
tidings  of  our  joyous  chaplain — he  was  never  wont 
to  be  absent  when  meat  was  to  be  blessed,  or  spoil 
to  be  parted ;  and  it  is  his  duty  to  take  care  of  these 
the  tithes  of  our  successful  enterprise.  It  may  be 
the  office  has  helped  to  cover  some  of  his  canonical 
irregularities.  Also,  I  have  a  holy  brother  of  his  a 

Question  :  What  was  Locksley’s  gift  to  the  Black 
Knight? 


IVANHOE 


439 


prisoner  at  no  great  distance,  and  I  would  fain  have 
ithe  Friar  to  help  me  to  deal  with  him  in  due  sort. 

I  greatly  misdoubt  the  safety  of  the  bluff  priest.’' 

“I  were  right  sorry  for  that,”  said  the  Knight  of 
jthe  Fetterlock,  “for  I  stand  indebted  to  him  for  the 
joyous  hospitality  of  a  merry  Knight  in  his  cell.  Let 
us  to  the  ruins  of  the  castle;  it  may  be  we  shall 
there  learn  some  tidings  of  him.” 

While  they  thus  spoke,  a  loud  shout  among  the 
yeomen  announced  the  arrival  of  him  for  whom  they 
feared,  as  they  learned  from  the  stentorian  voice  of 
the  Friar  himself,  long  before  they  saw  his  burly 
I  person. 

I  “Make  room,  my  merry-men!”  he  exclaimed; 
“room  for  your  godly  father  and  his  prisoner — cry 
welcome  once  more. — I  come,  noble  leader,  like  an 
eagle  with  my  prey  in  my  clutch.” — And  making*his 
way  through  the  ring,  amidst  the  laughter  of  all 
!  around,  he  appeared  in  majestic  triumph,  his  huge 
partisan  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  halter,  one 
end  of  which  was  fastened  to  the  neck  of  the  unfor¬ 
tunate  Isaac  of  York,  who,  bent  down  by  sorrow  and 
terror,  was  dragged  on  by  the  victorious  priest,  who 
shouted  aloud,  “Where  is  Allan-a-Dale,  to  chronicle 
me  in  a  ballad,  or  if  it  were  but  a  lay? — By  Saint 
Hermangild,  the  jingling  crowder  is  ever  out  of  the 
way  where  there  is  an  apt  theme  for  exalting  valor!” 

“Curtal  Priest,”  said  the  Captain,  “thou  hast 
been  at  a  wet  mass  this  morning,  as  early  as  it  is. 
In  the  name  of  Saint  Nicholas,  whom  hast  thou  got 
here?” 

“A  captive  to  my  sword  and  to  my  lance,  noble 
Captain,”  replied  the  Clerk  of  Copmanhurst;  “to 
my  bow  and  to  my  halberd,  I  should  rather  say;  and 
yet  I  have  redeemed  him  by  my  divinity  from  a 
worse  captivity.  Speak,  Jew— have  I  not  ransomed  • 
thee  from  Sathanas?— have  I  not  taught  thee  thy 


440 


Ivan  hoe 


credo,  thy  pater,  and  thine  Ave  Maria?  Did  I  not 
spend  the  whole  night  in  drinking  to  thee,  and  in 
expounding  of  mysteries  ?” 

“For  the  love  of  God!”  ejaculated  the  poor  Jew, 
“will  no  one  take  me  out  of  the  keeping  of  this  mad 
— I  mean  this  holy  man?” 

“How's  this,  Jew?”  said  the  Friar,  with  a  men¬ 
acing  aspect;  “dost  thou  recant,  Jew? — Bethink 
thee,  if  thou  dost  relapse  into  thine  infidelity,  though 
thou  art  not  so  tender  as  a  suckling  pig — I  would  I 
had  one  to  break  my  fast  upon — thou  art  not  too 
tough  to  be  roasted!  Be  comfortable,  Isaac,  and 
repeat  the  words  after  me.  Ave  Maria! - ” 

“Nay,  we  will  have  no  profanation,  mad  Priest,” 
said  Locksley;  “let  us  rather  hear  where  you  found 
this  prisoner  of  thine.” 

“By  Saint  Dunstan,”  said  the  Friar,  “I  found 
him  where  I  sought  for  better  ware!  I  did  step  into 
the  cellarage  to  see  what  might  be  rescued  there;  for 
though  a  cup  of  burnt  wine,  with  spice,  be  an  even¬ 
ing’s  draught  for  an  emperor,  it  were  waste,  me- 
thought,  to  let  so  much  good  liquor  be  mulled  at 
once;  and  I  had  caught  up  one  runlet  of  sack,  and 
was  coming  to  call  more  aid  among  these  lazy  knaves, 
who  are  ever  to  seek  when  a  good  deed  is  to  be 
done,  when  I  was  advised  of  a  strong  door.  Aha! 
thought  I,  here  is  the  choicest  juice  of  all  in  this 
secret  crypt;  and  the  knave  butler,  being  disturbed 
in  his  vocation,  hath  left  the  key  in  the  door.  In 
therefore  I  went,  and  found  just  naught  besides  a 
commodity  of  rusted  chains  and  this  dog  of  a  Jew, 
who  presently  rendered  himself  my  prisoner,  rescue 
or  no  rescue.  I  did  but  refresh  myself  after  the 
fatigue  of  the  action  with  the  unbeliever,  with  one 
humming  cup  of  sack,  and  was  proceeding  to  lead 
forth  my  captive,  when,  crash  after  crash,  as  with 
wild  thunder-dint  and  levin-fire,  down  toppled  the 


Ivan  hoe 


441 


masonry  of  an  outer  tower,  (marry  beshrew  their 
hands1  that  built  it  not  the  firmer  I)  and  blocked  up 
the  passage.  The  roar  of  one  falling  tower  followed 
another — I  gave  up  thought  of  life;  and  deeming  it 
a  dishonor  to  one  of  my  profession  to  pass  out  of  this 
world  in  company  with  a  Jew,  I  heaved  up  my  hal¬ 
berd  to  beat  his  brains  out;  but  I  took  pity  on  his 
gray  hairs,  and  judged  it  better  to  lay  down  the 
partisan,  and  take  up  my  spiritual  weapon  for  his 
conversion.  And  truly,  by  the  blessing  of  Saint 
Dustan,  the  seed  has  been  sown  in  good  soil ;  only 
that,  with  speaking  to  him  of  mysteries  through  the 
whole  night,  and  being  in  a  manner  fasting',  (for  the 
few  draughts  of  sack  which  I  sharpened  my  wits 
with  were  not  worth  marking,)  my  head